They Came Upon A Midnight Clear
by LAXgirl
Summary: Late one night, a mysterious ship sails out of the west and into the Grey Havens. Those aboard have come seeking a prophesised One who is the only one that can prevent the end of the world. But is Legolas willing to fulfill his destiny?
1. The Grey Havens

*IMPORTANT NOTICE* This is not a new story but a repost from under a different pen name. Don't ask me what possessed me to want to start a new account, but I got sick of dealing with two and wanted to put this fic back in it's rightful place under my original pen name. Nothing has been changed in the story's content and the other two chapters that have already been written will be reposted in several days after I have gone over some needed proofreading. 

Now back to the original draft…

*******

The idea for this story came to me late last night and I decided to write it on a whim. I must have been on some kind of kick because I wrote the whole first chapter out in less than a couple hours. It was seriously a new record for me. 

Disclaimer: Lord of the Rings and all associated characters are not mine and I am using them without permission from whoever actually holds the rights to Tolkein's work.

******* 

It was a calm, cloudless night. Stars twinkled brightly in the dark twilight firmament, out-shined only by the pale moon hanging low in the dark twilight sky. Bathed in the clear light of the summer's waning moon, the still waters of the Gulf of Lune shimmered and sparkled like a sea of diamonds. 

Housed on the far south-eastern shore of the harbored inland gulf, the elven shipyard of the Grey Havens lay in a peaceful slumber. Its vast docks and quays were silent and still from all the hammering and sawing that had filled the air during the day as countless mariners and shipbuilders labored to construct an endless supply of majestic silver boats. The ships built there were meant to ferry weary Elves of Middle-earth over the sea towards the Undying Lands in the west. Perhaps there under the shade of original Lothlorien's green trees they would find peace and live the rest of their immortal days under the light of the divine Valar. 

Standing alone and basking in the gentle lull of the waves crashing against the harbor's shores, the elven Shipwright Cirdan stood on the edge of the Grey Haven's tallest lookout tower, staring out over the quiet waters of the illuminated sea. The elf's stature was that of all the Firstborn; tall and lean, powerful in mind, body, and spirit. His dark brown hair was braided away from his face, cascading down the shipwright's taunt and muscular back in a flowing curtain of silky tresses to the top of his waist. The ship-lord was clothed in a simple arrangement: soft navy leggings and a loose white tunic. Though he had once been an elf of high importance, Cirdan chose not to wear garments of class or distinction but preferred rather the common garments of a mariner, such being his job and occupation. Though ageless in face and appearance, a mournful burden shined from out of the shipwright's ancient grey eyes. The masked pain in his profoundly deep eyes was the weight of his long and lonesome mission of providing passage into the west to any Elf that came to him. 

Leaning against the rampart of the stone tower, Cirdan stared sadly into the distant west, thinking of the many burdens his people had suffered in the mortal world. In his heart, the elf desperately longed to join his people in their final passage to the Undying Lands. It was undeniably painful for Cirdan to see the last glimmer of his silver ships disappear into the setting sun and know that he was left behind. He knew what peace and bliss lay ahead at the end of his passengers' journey. And though he faithfully manned his position of Shipwright, the elf knew he could not forsake Middle-earth; at least not yet. Countless centuries ago after the Valar had lifted their ban on the Elves from finding and reentering Valinor, Cirdan had promised he would remain in Middle-earth until the very last of the Firstborn grew weary of the mortal world of Men and came to him to sail across the sea. 

~I wonder for how many more years Elves will linger here in Middle-earth... ~ Cirdan wondered grimly as he looked out towards the endless sea of dancing waves before him. A lingering sense of regret stirred in Cirdan's heart at the thought of his kind slowly dwindling and fading from the forests and valleys of Middle-earth, though he wished himself to forsake the dying shores of his home and diminish like those before him into the west. ~The might and splendor of the Eldar diminish faster everyday. It is only a matter of time before we leave this land completely...~ 

Over the last few centuries, he had seen the numbers of those wishing to leave Middle-earth steadily growing. They had come to him wishing to escape from under the growing shadow of darkness that was slowly seeping over the land of Men, even unto the edges of the last elven havens of Lothlorien and Rivendell. And for a time after the destruction of the One Ring of Power and the diminishing of the three elven rings (one of which Cirdan himself had possessed and guarded before entrusting to Gandalf the Grey), the masses of fleeing elves had slackened as a tense peace returned to Middle-earth. 

But there was something new stirring in the air, something Cirdan could not taste, touch, or feel. It was like foreknowledge of an approaching summer storm when a cloudless blue sky still hung innocently overhead. It was like a faint darkness was hovering just on the edge of his vision, gnawing at the back of his mind like a rat on one of his ship's mooring ropes. It was an unplaceable darkness Cirdan knew haunted not only him but all Elves wary enough to feel it. 

And as of late, Cirdan had seen the numbers of Elves crossing over in the Grey Havens swell at an alarming rate. The housings he had set aside to house those waiting to set sail across the sea were now filled to capacity. Many elves were encamped along the shores of the Gulf in makeshift tents, waiting anxiously for the next ship to depart. There was a certain sense of subdued panic in the air Cirdan had never felt before. The ancient shipwright had even seen amongst the latest disembarkment of Elves a female elf from the distant realm of Eryn Lasgalen with a tiny infants cradled in her arms. What dark, unknown fear was spreading over Middle-earth that a mother would be willing to risk the life of her child on such a treacherous journey across the sea? 

Cirdan shuddered at the ominous thought. Some new darkness was growing in Middle-earth, he could feel it like a cold chill on the back of his neck. He just didn't know what it was. He knew that the Dark Lord Sauron's power had been utterly destroyed in the War of the Ring several years prior, but it felt as though a residue of his evil darkness still lingered over the land. Patches of land seemed free of this hovering gloom, like in distant Gondor where the shadow of Sauron's power had been the darkest. The shipwright had heard rumors from passing elves as the boarded his ships that Aragorn, the mortal foster-son of Lord Elrond, now ruled the great country of Gondor as King Elessar, the Elfstone. He had even heard inklings of a fair elven settlement being established somewhere near the city of Minas Tirith where the labor of the elves brought beauty and light back into the country that had seen so much darkness and destruction. 

But while the news of such peace and prosperity brought Cirdan some small hope for the endurance of Middle-earth, he could not dispel the insistent tickling in the pit of his stomach that warned him of something about to happen. It was that ominous twinge that had refused the elf sleep and had drug him in his restlessness up onto the ramparts of his watchtower, seeking solace in the faint light of the stars and waves of the sea. 

As Cirdan stared out over the tranquil sea mulling over the state of the world, he suddenly became aware of a small black shape on the distant horizon. The elf stood straight, tuning all of his attention onto the mysterious figure gliding on the sea. To a mere mortal's eyes, the shape was a tiny pinprick on the horizon and would have probably at first gone unnoticed, but to Cirdan and his enhanced elven seeing it looked to be the faint outline of a ship. He could make out a single mast rising up over the larger bulk of the boat, but he could make out little more in the pale moonlight. It was still too far out to sea to see how large of a vessel it was or in what design it had been constructed. But it was a ship without a doubt...

~Odd... What ship would be sailing towards the Grey Havens? And from so far in the west no less...~

Cirdan stood transfixed atop his watchtower, studying the ship with an air of perplexion and apprehension. The ship was moving with unnatural speed. Since spying it, it had already transversed several dozen knots. As the boat shot across the still ocean like a loosed arrow, Cirdan squinted to see the white foam breaking around its hull and skirting around its sides. It had to be traveling twice the normal speed of any shipping vessel the elven ship-lord had ever seen. 

Stirred by an immediate fear of this unnatural ship, Cirdan watched in transfixed awe as the boat sped closer into clear sight. It was coming in a direct path for the quiet harbor that still lay a dozen or more miles away where the elf stood. Moonlight danced across the sea and lit the hull and deck of the speeding vessel in an unearthly silver glow. Half a dozen miles away from the shores of the Grey Havens, Cirdan was finally able to estimate the full size of the silver ship. 

It had to be over three hundred feet long with a mast at least two-thirds that spance. Cirdan stared in disbelief, thinking he must be in some strange dream. Though narrow in width, no ship that size could possible sail at the speeds he saw this one going. It was just impossible! But no. Cirdan knew this was no dream. What he saw was real, no matter how unbelievable it was. 

The ships towering mast was hung with a huge billowing white sail. High above the Crowsnest a long triangular flag snapped in the salty nighttime breeze. As a masthead for the silver vessel, the carved wooden figure of a white swan with outstretched wings flew in front of the boat's path, cleaving a path for the ship over the foaming water below. As the Shipwright raked his elven eyes over the deck of the beautifully crafted ship, he could detect no movement of crew aboard. It was sailing on its own power from all that he could see. 

The elf's stomach twisted. The immense boat was already steering into the harbor mouth, and there was no mistaking where it was heading. ~It is sailing straight for the docks...~ Swiveling swiftly on his heels, Cirdan turned and raced for the stairs that would lead him to the ground. Something deep within in him told him he needed to be there to meet the mysterious silver ship when it docked. No seafaring vessel had sailed out of the west in the past three ages! Cirdan did not know what this mysterious ship's sudden appearance could possibly mean. 

Cirdan flew through the silent streets of the small sea-side settlement towards the docks of his shipyard. His soft elven footfalls landed almost silently on the paved roads leading down towards the harbor's shores.

He was now on the docks, running in a full sprint over the noisy wooden boards towards the last pier on the far end. He could see the massive ship's sparkling white sail gliding nearer through the forest of masts sitting between him and the unannounced boat. The mysterious ship was now slowing as it neared an empty mooring dock.

Turning sharply down onto the last dock of the shipyard, Cirdan reached the pier just as the silver boat slowed even more to gracefully glide up next to the wooden dock. The ancient Shipwright stood in agape awe looking up at the towering hull of silver wood as the ship siddled up to the mooring posts. Never had he seen such beauty in shipbuilding. He could see no seams of wooden planks on the delicately curve-shaped hull. It was like the entire vessel had been meticulously carved out of a single block of wood. 

~By the Valar... Could this ship be from the harbors of the Teleri in the Undying Lands!? No where else could such a ship have been crafted. But why would one of the unforsaken Elves leave Valinor to sail to Middle-earth? There have been no ships from out of the west since Feanor and the Noldor were exiled to Middle-earth half a lifetime ago...~ The implications of where the mysterious silver ship before him could have issued from literally made Cirdan's head spin. What could have brought his un-sorrowed brethren to sail to the shores of the mortal realm? 

But before the ancient Shipwright could ponder this mystery any more, the soft scuffle of wood on wood startled Cirdan out of his thoughts. It seemed the ship was manned after all, but from his angle looking upwards, he could not see any living being on its deck. As a wide gangplank made of the same silver wood as the ship itself appeared over the boat's side and slid down to rest on the wooden pier Cirdan stood on, the elf felt suddenly frozen in place, hypnotized by the strange ship and its mysterious appearance in the middle of the night.

Slowly over the railing of the ship's side, five tall cloaked forms of dark grey appeared, silhouetted by the waning moonlight in the sky behind them. Their faces were hidden from Cirdan's view by low hoods that hung halfway down over where their noses should have been. Walking in a single file, the five mysterious intruders slowly descended the gangplank, gliding like ghosts in their billowing robes. Their feet made no sound on the wooden pier as they stepped noiselessly off the silver plank and came to stand in a silent row before the now slightly frightened Shipwright. 

For what felt like an eternity, Cirdan stared into the black faces of the mysterious strangers. Even though he could not see their eyes, he could feel their invisible gaze silently boring into him. Mustering his willpower to break out of his trance and formally address these uninvited guests in his harbor, the elf said, "I am Cirdan, lord of the Grey Havens. I demand to know what business you have in my domain and from where you have come." Even to the Shipwright's ears he could detect the frightened waver in his voice as he addressed the faceless strangers. Never in all his long years of his life had he ever felt so unnerved by any being's presence as with these five.

"We have come from over the sea," answered the tallest of the cloaked figures vaguely in a low but fair voice. Cirdan immediately noted the strange accent permeating the stranger's speech. "We come only seeking information..."

"Information concerning what?" the ship-lord prompted circumspectly. 

"We seek information concerning the whereabouts of a particular elf here in Middle-earth who we are searching for. It is of the utmost importance that we find him..." answered another of five, this one's speech was also heavily accented, contesting without a doubt that the common tongue of Middle-earth was not their first language. 

Cirdan warily eyed his unannounced guests. "What business do you have with the elf you seek?"

"A dark evil is raising up over Middle-earth and will soon spread over all of Aman," whispered yet a third of the cloaked company, "The one we seek is the only one that can prevent the end of the world..."

The ancient elf's heart clenched into a frozen mass in his chest. He had not been prepared for this answer. It was altogether overwhelmingly eery how just as his harbors were filling with elves frantically seeking passage over the sea from some unnamed darkness growing in Middle-earth that five mysterious strangers should come out of the west speaking of the end of the world. What did all of this really mean? Was it possible that his personal fears of some growing uneasiness had not been without some foundation?

"What do you mean the end of the world?" Cirdan asked in a small quavering voice, his heart racing. 

"The end of all of Eru's creation... the silencing of Iluvatar's Song. Not even the Undying Lands of Valinor will escape the wave of destruction and death that will envelop the world in darkness if we do not find the One." replied the first grimly, most probably the leader of the five by the way the other four huddled at his sides. 

Cirdan glanced at each of the obscure faces standing around him with masked nervousness. "Who is it you seek?" the ancient shipwright asked, his curiosity overcoming any apprehension he may have had towards the faceless strangers of the silver ship. 

A suffocating pause stung Cirdan's ears as the hooded figures shifted their weight between their feet almost nervously. He could almost feel the tension rising as the tallest one took a hesitant step closer to the elven ship-lord. As the leader of the small band came to stand right over the ancient keeper of Narya, Cirdan suddenly felt small and unimportant in comparison to the commanding presence hiding only inches away beneath a hood of dark grey. 

Bending down slightly so as to lean in close to whisper in the Shipwright's delicately pointed ear, as if afraid of being overheard, the mysterious sailor said, "We have come seeking Legolas Thrandullion..."

TBC 

. 


	2. The Vision

I'm back. This is another record I'm setting with this update. What had started off as a mere whim has escalated into my newest fixation. 

Disclaimer: Lord of the Rings and all related characters are not mine. 

********* 

(Two months after the Grey Havens)

"I do say! What ever is the matter with you, elf?" Gimli exclaimed in exasperation as he eyed the fidgety creature walking close beside him. 

Giving a small snort of indignance, Legolas Greenleaf shook his blond head in irritation. "There is nothing wrong with me, dwarf," he answered grumpily, "I just do not like being in such large crowds. I can barely move without being jostled by some other person." Even as the elf said this, a rather large man with a tankard of ale brushed past him, nearly knocking Legolas around by the sheer force of his shoulder slamming into the slim archer.

Gimli almost burst out in laugher at the flustered expression that flew across Legolas' face as the elf struggled to regain his composure from the sudden assault. Though he did enjoy watching his elven companion itch with discomfort, Gimli did feel a bit sympathetic for Legolas. Gimli knew Legolas generally avoided mass crowds at all costs, hating the feeling of being trapped in the press of a hundred bodies. Whenever attending formal banquets or gatherings together, Gimli could almost always be sure to find his friend hiding in some quiet corner of the room, away from the main hub of people. The dwarf knew Legolas was not claustrophobic or unsociable by any means, it was just that he did not enjoy being closed in and confined. The fact that Aragorn had managed to convince the elf to attend the festival today was nothing short of a miracle.

Today was the Summer Festival; a widely popular Gondorian festival and the last of the season until the fall harvest. Aragorn had sent formal invitations several weeks prior to Legolas in Ithilien and Gimli in the Glittering Caves, welcoming them to come and enjoy the holiday celebrations with him in Gondor's capital. 

It looked as though the entire population of Minas Tirith had come out to the tournament fields on the western outskirts of the city to enjoy the day's activities. Several acres large, the tournament fields swarmed with people. Warm sunlight shined over clusters of small booths set up periodically across the sprawling green field. Vendors of all kinds stood hawking trinkets and food to the passing crowd as people moved about enjoying the festival's events. Horse races, storytellers, and games of strength were only some of the amusements to be found. Gimli had even managed to discover a number of booths specializing in locally brewed ale during the course of their travels through the fair, though this was not met with as much enthusiasm from his elven friend. 

Gimli had to give Legolas credit. The elf had endured much of the bumping and jarring of the large crowd so far quite well. Though he had good-heartily enough joined Gimli on his tour of the ale booths, Legolas at one point had finally at one point had enough (somewhere around their fifth or sixth stop), and stubbornly demanded a halt from their wanderings. Giving in merely to hush the irritated elf's tantrum, Gimli had subsequently found himself sitting beside his friend in the shade of some trees watching a small troop of actors from the city perform a short play. The dwarf had found the plot of the story overly melodramatic for his tastes and had whined about it loudly to Legolas for the better part of the performance, though his friend seemed to enjoy it despite Gimli's commentary. 

The afternoon sun was now high overhead and beating down on the open field as the two made their way slowly towards the main sporting arena where a tournament of skills and strength was to be held. The crowd was becoming increasingly denser as they moved closer. Everyone was hurrying to grab what few good seats remained around the circular enclosure before the spectacle began.

"I will be glad to get out of this crowd soon," Legolas grumbled in unnatural irritation as he was pressed closer to Gimli as the crowed thickened even more. "It is too hot of a day to spend in such close spaces with so many others," he added as he wiped the back of his hand across his forehead. A very faint sheen of perspiration glistened across his brow. 

"And here I thought elves had the endurance to withstand even the fires of Mordor..." Gimli commented quietly under his breath, but loud enough for Legolas to hear over the din of the crowd. Legolas seemed to chose to ignore the dwarf and instead turned his attention onto the neat rows of colorful tents and flags lining the path leading up to the tournament field's entrance.

Though he was not about to verbally agree with his companion after making such a jest about the elf's discomfort, Gimli was only too aware of the heat. He could feel a trickle of sweat rolling down his own neck, and his beard was sticking to his skin uncomfortably. Waves of heat were wafting up from the ground and into the air in the near distance along the rim of the surrounding hills. The sky above was without any clouds, offering the open tournament fields below no relenting from the blistering sun glaring high overhead. Stealing a quick glance up at his friend, Gimli indeed saw that Legolas looked rather torrid even in his loose and gauzy white summer tunic. 

"I'm sure Aragorn's arranged some shade for us for when we meet him. He knows we were going to go out early and look around a bit before the tournament started," Gimli tried to offer as some kind of comfort to the overheated elf, "He wanted us to sit with him and Lady Arwen in the royal box. I hear those fighting are some of the best warriors Gondor has to offer. It should be an excellent show, and we have some of the best seats in the house. It is good to know people in high places..." 

"Yes, it is rather fortunate that Aragorn invited us to join him. Otherwise I'm not quite sure what we would have done..." Legolas exclaimed in mock relief, looking up to heaven for effect. 

"What do you mean, elf?" Gimli questioned suspiciously, sensing his fair companion setting him up for something.

"Well, I doubt at this point there would have been very many places left along the tournament ring, "Legolas explained with a sly smile, "I was not about to become one of your 'people in high places' and let you sit on my shoulder so that you might see over the heads of everyone else there..."

Gimli's lips pursed together in insult under his bushy reddish beard. His dark little eyes betrayed none of the contempt he held for the elf's jokes about his stature. "Be careful, elf," he warned threateningly, "Or instead of seeing knights sword fighting, the people of Gondor will witness first-hand just how far a dwarf can cuddle-toss an elf through the air." 

"I do not know, Master Dwarf," the archer mulled thoughtfully, "I doubt if the people of Gondor will find the distance of two feet an impressive show of dwarfish strength."

"Now you've done it! Now I'm going to have to get Aragorn to order some of his men to cut you down from one of those flagpoles later tonight after I tie you up there by your braids!"

"Or the other way around when I tie you up there by your beard!"

To any one of the several dozen people packed around the unlikely pair of friends, this may have sounded like the start of a bloody braw. But to Legolas and Gimli, they knew the other was merely joking and acting off the strange bond they shared where half-hearted insults were terms of endearment. And so their pointless banter continued until it finally became drowned out by the din of the amassed crowd as they entered the packed tournament ring. 

*********

"Legolas! Gimli! I was wondering when you were going to arrive," Aragorn greeted enthusiastically with a broad smile as the elf and dwarf mounted the short flight of wooden stairs leading into the boxed area of seats reserved for the king and queen of Gondor. Seated in the center-most seat in a row of gilded, high-backed chairs lined across the front of the box, Aragorn turned in his seat to address his friends. 

Dressed in a festive robe of summer-green and topped by his ancestral crown of gold and mithril, Aragorn looked everything a royal descendant of Isildur and King of Gondor should be. It was hard to believe that only several years before he had been a solitary and scruffy looking Ranger known only as Strider wondering alone in the wilds of Middle-earth. But after the defeat of Sauron during the War of the Ring two years before, Aragorn had become King Elessar, the proud and mighty ruler of one of the most powerful countries in the world. Aragorn could no longer freely travel across the land as he would have done as a ranger in days long gone, and now spent his days doing paperwork and dealing with the concerns of state as a responsible king and ruler. But still a certain spark of Aragorn's wild, untamable spirit shined in his grey eyes. 

"We are not late are we?" Legolas asked as they stepped into the darkened shade of the roofed platform. The elven prince immediately relished the coolness the shade brought to his sun-warmed skin as he stepped into the darkened interior of the seating box. 

"You are quite on time, Legolas," came a feminine sweet voice from the other side of Aragorn, "King Elessar is just in an impatient mood today." Leaning forward in her seat, the radiant face of the dark haired Evenstar came into view. Arwen's hair was elegantly braided away from her face and fell down her back in a single raven plait. A delicately crafted fillet of silver circled her brow where a single white gem had been fastened in the very center of her face, enhancing her beauty and accentuating her ancient grey eyes. 

"My Lady Arwen..." the elven archer bowed to the beautiful queen with a graceful dip of his head.

"No formalities today, Legolas," she smiled graciously, "Today's a time to enjoy the festivities and leave such things for a later time."

"Yes. Yes. Come. Sit down," Aragorn said eagerly as he motioned Gimli and Legolas to sit in two velvet cushioned seats positioned on his left.

"Will Faramir be joining us today?" the Mirkwood prince asked in reference to his friend's faithful Steward as he eyed the other empty seats lining the railing of seating box. 

"No. He is attending to matters today in my absence at the palace," the retired ranger replied with a shake of his head, "I wanted to enjoy the day talking with my friends and not have to deal with any kind of formal business."

"Don't tell me the great King Elessar is already wearying of his duties after only two years?" Gimli asked light-heartedly as he took the proffered seat between Legolas and Aragorn. 

"Oh, I am not quite there yet," the man said off-handedly with a smile, "But the constant harping of a half dozen advisors in my ear can be quite tiring after awhile..."

"I cannot say I envy you or your position at all..." Legolas said with a small chuckle at the king's trials and tribulations of court. All those present agreed with the elf in varying degrees of laughter. 

"Enough about my woes," Aragorn finally dismissed with a heart-felt smile, "I know much of Legolas' work in Ithilien, but what of you Gimli? How goes things in the Glittering Caves? I had little time to speak with you after you arrived last night or this morning before you and Legolas disappeared sometime shortly after breakfast."

"Oh, things are well," the dwarf answered, only too happy to be the topic of conversation, "We have begun construction of a new network of tunnels in the north-western section of the caves..."

Legolas let his mind wander as Gimli excitedly went on telling Aragorn about his plans for the new mine; its dimensions, the complications he and the other dwarves had encountered thus far, etc, etc... Really Legolas had heard enough about the new tunnel the night before at dinner from Gimli and was not interested in hearing about it all again.

While Legolas was happy that Gimli had a new project to occupy himself with, the elf was troubled with much more important matters than tunnels and mines. As of late, there had been inklings of uneasiness in his small elven community in Ithilien that were beginning to weight on his mind. Some had even voiced their concerns straight to Legolas that they no longer felt safe in the guarded walls of the settlement. When pressed for an elaboration so that he might better understand how to deal with the problem, the general response was a perplexed look and the vague explanation that they honestly did not know what was causing them such distress. 

Only one had actually managed to put these unnerving feelings into words; comparing the uneasiness to the sensation of a dark presence lurking in the back of the mind. Legolas had felt it too, a growing feeling of unrest in the land. But it was still altogether vexing and frustrating to try and calm his people when their growing fear was so vague and abstract. 

Besides the mysterious uneasiness in his people, Legolas had also begun to notice small, normally insignificant things that were beginning to trouble him. The trees seemed quieter than normal and many of the birds have fled the forest, as if fleeing from an early winter though no noticeable chill hung in the air. 

It was as though there was some disturbance in the air that Legolas could not quite place; a shifting of forces the scope of his senses could not fully encompass or detect. The whole world seemed to be holding a tense breath of anticipation, as if waiting for some unseen event to occur. 

Several times now over the past two months, he had woken in the dead of night drenched in a cold sweat with a gnawing anxiety that something terrible was about to happen; though he knew not what. Even when the sun rose and the light of dawn spilled over the land, Legolas swore he could feel a shapeless fear still lingering in the air.

A loud trumpet blast suddenly startled Legolas out of his troubled thoughts. Tuning his eyes to the center of the large sand covered ring, the elf saw a herald making his way out to announce the start of the tournament. At Legolas' side, Gimli sat sulking in his seat. The dwarf had been in the midst of a dramatic narration about a partial cave-in that had occurred during the first part of the new tunnel's construction when the herald had suddenly stolen his thunder. A quieted hush came over the crowd as the man came to the very center of the ring and turned to face the royal box holding Aragorn, Arwen, Legolas, and Gimli. He dipped low into a formal bow and quickly straightened again. 

"My Lord Elessar!" the herald cried in his loudest voice over the gentle murmur of talking still circulating through the crowd surrounding the three hundred foot long tournament ring, "The men of the White Guard beg your permission to come before you and ask your favor for the start of the tournament!"

Aragorn had been well informed as to his part in the opening ceremony and knew how, as king, he was expected to answer. Rising from his seat in a sweep of green robes, the man came to stand at the edge of the box. A murmur of awe rippled through the assembled crowd as the sunlight hit Aragorn and his crown of gold and mithril and transformed him into the living image of Isildur himself in all his ancient majesty. "Bring them forth, so that I may find them fit to proceed," Aragorn said loudly as he raised a hand in the air to signal for the knights' entrance. Another horn trumpeted loudly. 

From the far corner of the ring a line of ten knights on horseback trotted in, fully armored and carrying colorful banners baring their family crests. The bright afternoon sunlight glittered off their polished armor and dazzled the eyes of all that looked onto them. A roar of applause broke through the crowd as they galloped around the perimeter of the field with their banners waving over the shoulders to snap in the wind behind them. Many of the people cried aloud names of their favorite knights as he galloped past. Making their circle of the ring, the ten knights of the White Guard then cantered to the center of the field and came to stop in a straight line in front of the royal box. 

"King Elessar! Our liege!" the knights cried in unison as they bowed in their saddles to Aragorn. In a sequenced move, all lowered the tips of their banners to rest on the ground at their horses' feet. The crowd again hushed so that they might hear.

"Knights of the Summer Festival, you have been chosen to display your bravery and courage in a tournament of skill. Are you prepared to fight in armored combat and compete in tests of strength?"

"We are, my Lord!"

"Do you find the field suitable for battle?" the king of Gondor then asked, his booming voice ringing out over the assembled crowd huddled tightly around the wooden fence of the ring.

"We do!"

"Then I grant my permission to proceed. May you all fight with valor and honor befitting that of a knight of the White Guard." Another loud roar rose up from the crowd as the knights wheeled their mounts around and took off to different corners of the ring where squires stood waiting to take their horses. 

"What skills will they be competing in?" Legolas asked quietly as Aragorn reclaimed his seat in the center of the box. 

"Skills of horsemanship, lance, sword, and... archery," the regal king answered with a bemused pause before the last skill.

"Oh, really...?" the elf smiled playfully, hitching an eyebrow up on his fair face as he cast a mischievous glance at the sandy playing field.

"Do not become too excited, my friend," Aragorn rebuked with a broad smile, "Only knights of the White Guard may compete in the tournament. And anyway, I do not want to place my men into such an unfair fight as trying to out-shoot the prince of Mirkwood in archery."

Friendly laughter erupted through the seating box. "So be it, Aragorn. I would not want to put your men to such shame," Legolas chuckled jokingly, holding his hands up in front of his chest in mock surrender. 

While Aragorn and Legolas had been talking, the first two contestants in the first competition of horsemanship had taken the field. Small, portable wooden fences had been set up around the perimeter of the ring. The knights were to race their horses through the obstacle course of jumps while simultaneously trying to catch multiple colored rings that were tossed into the air on the end of a lance. Squires stood beside the jumps and around other parts of the field waiting to toss rings into the air as the knights sped by. The knight with the fastest time and the most rings successfully caught would win the horsemanship competition and advance to the next round with higher standings. 

The first two men to compete sat atop their mounts in the far north-eastern corner of the ring, tensely waiting for the signal to begin the race. Each held a long, red striped lance in his gloved hand. The herald that had addressed Aragorn and opened the tournament again stood in the center of the sandy ring, a piece of red cloth held in his right hand. 

"On my mark!" he called in a shrill voice that carried over the excited buzz of the crowd as he turned to face the waiting knights in the far corner. "1...2...3!" As he cried the last number, the man sent the red cloth flying high into the air. 

Springing like a snapped string, the mounted knights took off along the edge of the ring, each urging his horse for more speed as they neared the first jump. As they leapt over the first wooden hurtle, six multi-colored rings shot up into the air on the other side. Lances stabbed the air as the two struggled to catch the falling rings on the end of their spears. One managed to catch a ring before over-shooting the squires who had tossed the rings and had to move onto the next jump. The other knight had not been so lucky and had been unable to spear any of the rings. He quickly spurred his mount faster to catch up to his opponent who was now trying to gain ground on him before the next jump. The amassed crowd of people was now screaming hysterically, either booing or cheering on the men. Little else could be heard except the roar of the excited spectators. 

As the two knights rounded the first corner and hurtled another jump, a deafening exclamation of dismay went up from the people as the first knight missed all of the rings tossed in the air before him. But the cry of the crowd soon turned to frenzied pitch as the second knight managed to spear not one, but two rings! with his lance, thus earning him an unexpected lead for the moment. 

"The first one pulled in his horse's head too much when he came out of the jump," Legolas commented quietly to himself as the two knights raced for the third jump with new intensity at the sudden upset of scoring, "The man held back his horse and lost himself the spilt second he needed before the rings fell too low for him to catch."

No one else seemed to have heard Legolas as he crowd suddenly roared in excitement as the two knights came out of the third jump and went for the exact same ring. Boos and cheers erupted as the second knight shied back from his opponent as the two came a heartbeat away from colliding, allowing the other man to catch the ring. The score was again tied. 

By now, the knights were a third of the way through the race and nearing a double jump where two hurtles had been placed one right after another in quick succession. 

But as the two neared the first of the two fences, Legolas suddenly felt a strange feeling creep up his spine from the small of his back. Physically he could feel nothing, but in the back of his mind, it felt like the warm breath of a stranger on the back of his neck. The elf's insides tightened as a wave of uneasiness crashed over him. In some distant corner of his mind, it felt as though an alarm had been sounded and was setting ever fiber of his body on alert. 

Startled and immediately on guard, Legolas ripped his eyes from the galloping horses and shifted his grey eyes to scan the massive crowd of people packed on the other side of the enormous tournament ring. As his elven eyes raked across the sea of several hundred faces staring out into the sand covered field, Legolas' stomach clenched as the feeling intensified to new heights. It was like he sensed some kind of lurking danger hanging in the air.

~What is wrong with me!? Why do I suddenly feel so uneasy!?~ But the elf had no answers to these questions as he tensed in his seat, gripping the armrests in unfounded fear and apprehension. Legolas' pulse pounded in his ears and he felt his heartbeat quicken in his chest.

As the elf swept his searching eyes over the crowd again for something he knew not what he searched for, Legolas' eyes suddenly came to rest on a dark area of the crowd, as if they had been guided there by some unknown power. 

There, in the midst of several dozen smiling faces attentively attuned to the action taking place in the ring, a small huddle of cloaked figures caught Legolas' gaze. Legolas's heart skipped a beat as he locked eyes with five darkly hooded figures standing like stone statues in a sea of excited and cheering spectators. While every other person in the area stood jostling each other and pointing at the knights racing across the other side of the field, the cloaked strangers stood motionless and silent, staring straight at Legolas sitting in the roofed seating box directly across the ring. 

The elven prince froze in his seat as the faceless holes of black under low hoods of grey stared back at him. Though he could descern no faces under the dark folds of cloth, Legolas knew the mysterious five were staring straight at him, and him alone from across the field. He could almost feel their eyes on his skin. It felt as though a wave of cold had suddenly washed over him. No one else in the pressed mass of people seemed to even notice the five heavily cloaked figures standing there amongst them under the sweltering summer sun like ghost grey Ringwraiths. 

Before Legolas could even process the sudden appearance of the ghostly apparitions, the tallest one of the group stepped slightly forward and slowly raised a hand out towards the hypnotized elf, as if beckoning him to them. Startled and frightened, Legolas leapt out of his seat, sending his chair flying back behind him. He was almost ready to turn and run from the faceless strangers when a sudden note of song caught his highly-tuned elven ears. 

Flitting and melodious, the haunting notes of several mingled voices echoed through Legolas' head, as though the song originated from his very thoughts. But what startled Legolas even more was that the words sounded almost elven, like some ancient form of Quenya which he had some learning in. But the language he heard now was unknown to him; he could only listen dumbly as the tune of the song took over the meaning of the words. 

The song came low and almost sad, the fair voices prolonging the notes and ending them with a dip of tone as though their chant was one of mourning. The sound drifted through his brain, dulling any other thoughts in his mind. Legolas' vision began to blur and fade as his eyes stared in locked attentiveness on the hooded figures staring at him across the tournament ring. The boisterous noise of the crowed arena seemed to die away to a mere background murmur as the unearthly song filled Legolas' ears and swam his senses. The elven archer found himself paralyzed by the strangely beautiful song as he stood frozen in place listening to the sorrowful tune. Every ounce of willpower seemed to have been bled out of him as the haunting voices echoed through his head. 

The song suddenly intensified. A dark, misty haze seemed to rise up and cloud Legolas' vision. Legolas heart hammered against his ribs rapidly, threatening to rip right out of his chest. The crowded tournament ring slowly faded from sight as the growing darkness rose up enveloped the frightened elf in a blanket of black. 

The foreign words of the ghostly song pounded in Legolas' ears. The elf's blood suddenly felt like ice water coursing through his veins. The tune had changed. A more desperate, ominous tone now tainted the notes of the fair voices singing in his mind. The song swirled in Legolas' head like a maelstrom of distorted voices. 

Suddenly, over the roar of the strange song, a flash of fiery red exploded from out of the inky darkness around Legolas. The song continued to wail in his ears as Legolas cried out and instinctively raised his hands up in front of him to protect his face from the tongues of orange-red fire that licked hungrily at him. But as the wave of heat and fire passed, Legolas came to find himself unharmed and unscorched. 

The confused and frightened elf slowly lowered his hands and looked around. Instead of the wall of blackness he almost expected to find or even the crowed tournament ring, Legolas found himself standing in a barren desert wasteland of blackened ash. No living thing met the bewildered elf's eyes as he scanned his new surroundings. Only the charred remains of a few skeleton like trees stood out against the scorched earth. The sky overhead was red as though stained with blood. Smoke drifted on the air and stung Legolas' nose, almost gagging him. It was like some devastating war had ravaged the land and left nothing in its wake. 

The elven prince looked around in confusion at the apocalyptic devastation. Where was he? The song still pulsed in Legolas' ears but a new element had now been added to the fair voices singing their mournful chant. 

It was the sound of screams. 

Pure fear and horror permeated every note of the echoing screams. Slowly, the frightened cries and screams of a hundred ghostly voices overrode the song of ancient Quenya until it was the only thing Legolas could hear. He clamped his hands over his ears tightly, trying to shut out the ring of utter despair and terror. It felt as though his entire head was being splintered by the roar of horrific screams swirling in his ears. Legolas wanted to cry out in pain, adding his voice to the storm of tortured screams. 

Looking around desperately for the source of the deafening shrieks so that he might somehow silence or escape them, Legolas was startled to find the five cloaked figures he had seen before in the crowd at the tournament suddenly standing only several feet in front of him. 

Under the reddish glare of the sky above, the wraith-like figures stood like blood stained statues of death and doom. Their faces lay hidden in dark shadows under their low hoods. They stood silent and motionless as the anguished wails of a thousand, unseen souls ripped through Legolas' head like spikes of cold steel. The wraiths merely stood and stared as Legolas dropped to his knees in pain, clutching his ears. 

"Make it stop!!" Legolas cried in desperation to the mysterious cloaked figures over the deafening roar of horrified screams in his ears. The pain and despair he felt at hearing the breathless screams of so many helpless victims was indescribable.

But instead of moving to help him, the hooded strangers merely stood there, watching as the elf writhed in agony as the screams tore through his sensitive ears. Slowly the low and sad song Legolas had first heard began to rise again and mingle with the terrified shrieks filling the air. He could now barely move because of the pain in his head. The five cloaked figures began to slowly glide over the charred ground to stand in a tight circle around Legolas' helpless body. 

Though Legolas could not understand how the chaotic noise swirling around him could possibly get any louder, it did. The towering forms of the mysterious five huddled over him, blocking out the red sky overhead. Their unearthly song pierced through the storm of unending screams. Crying out, the elf clawed at his delicately pointed ears. Legolas knew he was moments away from unconsciousness by the way his vision was swimming and the way his head felt seconds away from shattering into a thousand tiny pieces. 

As the elf collapsed onto his back in pain and looked up at those crowded around him chanting their strange, unearthly song, the tallest of the clocked figures slowly bent over Legolas. Its hooded face hovered right over the helpless elf as he stared up in paralyzed pain. 

As the blackened hole where a face should have been lowered ever closer to Legolas, the prince felt utter horror and fear course through his veins. Trapped between the blackened earth at his back and the empty hood above and the deafening cry of a hundred tortured victims around him, Legolas could do nothing but stare up in utter terror at the faceless monster coming down onto him. 

The wraith slowly reached out a hand towards Legolas. But the elf never saw what the clocked figure's intended target was as Legolas suddenly spiraled back into the yawning abyss of unconsciousness that rose up swiftly to claim him and wrap him in the still silence of nothing...

TBC 


	3. Awakening

Disclaimer: I do not own Lord of the Rings or any associated characters.

****** 

"Legolas! Legolas, answer me!"

"Damn you, elf, wake up!"

Legolas lay on his back unconscious. On either side of him, Aragorn and Gimli knelt, trying desperately to wake the elven prince. But the elf did not stir or show any signs of response as his worried friends frantically shook the lifeless body. Legolas' eyes remained tightly shut and body utterly limp even as Aragon lifted him up and cradled the blond archer's head in the crook of his arm. 

"Aragorn, what's wrong with him?" Gimli cried, trying to hold back the rising panic in his voice. 

Only moments before, while the rest of them had been excitedly watching the knights race around the tournament ring, Legolas had suddenly jumped to his feet as if startled by something. But before anyone could react to his strange behavior, Legolas had just as suddenly collapsed to the floor. Blood was pouring from a cut on the elf's right temple where his head had cracked against the wooden railing of the seating box when he had suddenly been taken by this mysterious swoon. 

"Do you want me to send for help?" Arwen offered worriedly from Legolas' feet as her husband attempted to staunch the flow of scarlet fluid seeping down the side of his friend's face with his hand. Reaching into the sleeve of her gown, the queen quickly produced a handkerchief and offered it to Aragorn. 

Taking the cloth and pressing it to Legolas' head, the trained healer shook his head, "No. Just give me a minute. I can do this." 

"What do you think happened to him?" Gimli again implored. The dwarf was becoming increasingly agitated by the elf's unresponsive nature and by the sight of blood that continued to seep out his unconscious friend's head.

"I do not know. There is little reason for him to have fainted so suddenly," the king answered gravely. Worry creased his tanned face. Shifting the limp body in his arms, Aragorn gently pressed two forefingers to the underside of Legolas' chin, feeling for a pulse. He did not have to probe deep to find it; the elf's heartbeat raced under the tips of his fingers shallow and fast. Slightly worried by this, the man then moved his free hand up to Legolas' pale face and felt his forehead. "He is slightly warm, though not running a fever of any kind." 

"Legolas was complaining about the heat earlier today..." Gimli offered, hopeful that this might somehow help Aragorn diagnose what was wrong with Legolas. 

But before Aragorn could do anything with this new information, the elf in his arms slowly began to stir. A low moan escaped Legolas' lips as he tossed his head weakly against Aragorn's chest. Those huddled closely around the awakening elf waited in breathless anticipation as the prince's eyelids fluttered slightly. 

"Come on, Legolas. Come on now, that's it. Wake up," Aragorn coaxed softly, smoothing back several long strands of blond hair from the elf's sweat dampened face.

Gimli also edged closer to Legolas' side and gently took the elf's hand into his own. "Blasted elf better wake up..." the dwarf muttered under his breath as he stared raptly into the prince's face. 

Aragorn immediately realized how worried Gimli really must have been if he was bestowing so much unmasked concern onto the elven prince. Even though the two shared one of the closest bonds of friendship Aragorn had ever seen, they would still on numerous occasions vehemently denounce having such strong affections for each other. It was the curse Legolas and Gimli both carried for sharing such a cross-racial friendship when Elves and Dwarves still held such suspicious contempt for each other.

"He's coming around," the king whispered in relief as he felt the slim archer tense in his arms, signaling a return to consciousness. 

Blinking slowly in groggy disorientation, Legolas again issued a soft moan. One of his hands automatically reached up to the throbbing area of his head where Aragorn was still applying pressure to with a now blood-sodden cloth. Finding a hand already there, the semi-conscious elf dropped his hand and settled back into Aragorn arms, letting his head roll back into the bend of Aragorn's elbow. 

Groaning, Legolas groggily blinked his liquid blue eyes open and stared up at the faces hovering over him. But what immediately happened next was something Aragorn and Gimli never anticipated.

Legolas screamed.

The blood-cuddling cry of terror ripped through Aragorn and Gimli's ears like a hot knife. In the blink of an eye, the elf bolted upright and violently twisted out of Aragorn's grasp, practically throwing the man to the ground as he threw the protective arms from around him. Eyes wide with unmistakable fear in their cerulean depths, Legolas scuttled backwards across the ground until his back finally flattened against the front of the seating box with a hollow _thud_. The prince's chest heaved in short, shallow breaths of air as he sat like a cornered animal pressed against the short wooden wall. 

"Legolas!" Aragorn cried sharply, completely startled by this sudden outburst. Gimli and Arwen knelt beside the king, staring at Legolas in shock. Quickly regaining his composure, the man spoke soft and slow, trying to calm the clearly terrified and disoriented elf. "It's us, Legolas – your friends. We are not going to harm you. You are safe. It's alright." 

Recognition seemed to spark in the archer and the immediate fear dimmed in his eyes. Legolas sat for a moment in silence staring in bewilderment at the worried faces of his friends huddled near him. "Where... What happened?" he finally croaked. The elf slowly raised a shaking hand to the side of his head. He involuntarily winced as his fingers brushed against the tender patch of sliced skin. 

"You fainted and cut your head when you fell," Aragorn explained calmly as he got to his feet and bent down in front of Legolas to examine him again. The man reached out tentatively to touch the elf's injured head, almost afraid Legolas would recoil away from him as he had just done. But the archer did not and Aragorn gently reapplied pressure to the oozing cut above Legolas' right eye. The side of Legolas' head was already beginning to swell into a large goose-egg, but the cut was finally beginning to clot and the bleeding ebb away. 

"I fainted?" Legolas repeated in a small, confused voice. He hissed sharply under his breath as Aragorn dabbed at the tender cut on his head. 

"Not only did you faint, but you also gave all of us one nasty scare!" Gimli broke in and shouted angrily. The dwarf picked himself off the ground and stalked over to the elf. Dropping down eye-level with the dazed prince, he stared into Legolas' face threateningly. "If you ever do something like that again, I swear I'll hack all those pretty little braids of yours off with my own ax! Do you understand?! What ever made you do such a thing?!" 

The dwarf wasn't angry with Legolas himself; he was upset by how much the elf's faint had truly scared him. Now that he saw Legolas awake and alert, Gimli's anxiety for his friend's welfare was quickly becoming overshadowed by a swelling of wounded pride. He did not like having his emotions wrenched about and unwittingly displayed for all to see in such a way. Frustrated and half-embarrassed for being so shaken by Legolas' sudden fainting spell, the stout little dwarf hid his emotions behind a facade of anger. But his act did not fool either Aragorn, Arwen, or Legolas. 

"I didn't faint," Legolas muttered weakly as Aragorn continued to tend his cut head. The prince slowly shook his head as if trying to shake cobwebs from his mind. "I don't know what happened, but I did not faint..." 

"Warg's dung you didn't!" Gimli snorted, "I saw it myself."

"And so did Arwen and I," the king of Gondor confirmed with a solemn nod of the head, "It was probably the heat. Gimli said you were complaining about it earlier today before the tournament. You probably just got too overheated and blacked out. It is nothing to be ashamed of, Legolas. It could happen to anyone–"

"No!" Legolas cried sharply, surprising everyone by the intensity of his voice. Jerking his head out of the elven-trained healer's grasp, the elf struggled to pull himself onto his knees and stand. 

"Legolas, you must stay still. You could faint again if you move too fast," Aragorn cautioned as he put a firm hand on the Legolas' shoulder and tried to push the fighting elf back to the ground. "You might have a concussion. I do not want you moving around so quickly." 

"I tell you I did not faint!" the blond prince cried stubbornly, "Did not anyone else see them?"

"See who?" Gimli questioned gruffly. 

"The ones in the crowd," Legolas said. He finally managed to shrug the man's hand off his shoulder and hoist himself up onto his knees, much to Aragorn's dismay. The elf reached up, gripping the top of the seating box's railing, and gingerly got to his feet. Legolas' head spun with vertigo as he righted himself and stood straight. The elf's knees shook under him slightly as though they were filled with jelly. 

Legolas immediately tightened his grip on the railing for support. For a second, he thought he was about to be sick by the way his stomach clenched in his gut by the sudden shifting of positions. The throbbing in his temple intensified as a rush of blood pounded in his ears. But he was too proud to show his weakness to any of his friend; especially Aragorn who had cautioned him against such actions. He waited until the queasiness passed and his vision focused again. Slowly, the world stopped spinning. 

"What are you talking about, Legolas?" Aragorn asked with concern, coming up beside the elf at the railing. The king stood far enough away from the pale looking prince to give him room, but close enough to catch him if he should suddenly faint again. 

"I saw some people in the crowd..." he said, looking out over the tournament ring to the opposite side where several hundred people stood and sat. Legolas was immediately startled to find that instead of watching the main ring, the crowd's attention was now turned onto the small seating box of the king. Several hundred sets of eyes stared back at him. A hushed murmur was rising out of the crowd as spectators leaned towards their neighbor and whispered to each other under their breaths. Legolas could feel the gaze of the people on him, watching him. 

The race had ended several minutes before with an uproarious victory of the second knight. But when Aragorn had not risen to give some sort of praise to the winning knight, the people had immediately noticed something wrong in the king's sectioned seating box. All that could be discerned was that one of King Elessar's guests – the elf from Ithilien – was lying on the ground with the king, queen, and dwarf huddled around him. 

The tournament proceedings had immediately been halted when Legolas collapsed. Some of the more curious spectators of the crowd were standing on the lower rungs of the tournament ring's fence trying to better see what was going on. Everyone there stood in a tense state of anticipation waiting to see what had happened to the king's friend. 

"Legolas, what is going on?" Aragorn whispered, becoming increasingly worried by the elf's unnatural uneasiness and noticing the large amount of attention now drawn to them by the crowd. 

"I saw some people... They were wearing dark grey cloaks," the prince tried to explain, as he swept his eyes over the hushed crowd of onlookers staring back at him. But as his sharp elven eyes scanned the crowd, Legolas saw no sign of the mysterious cloaked figures. 

"Legolas, there are hundreds of people out there. There is no way you could have seen anyone like that..." the old ranger tried to reason, placing a reassuring hand on Legolas' shoulder.

"I know what I saw, Aragorn," Legolas growled, turning on the man. Aragorn immediately noticed a strange glint shining in the elf's eyes; a mixture of fear and apprehension, or perhaps something else he could not quite place. "There were five of them. They were standing right there in that middle section," the blond archer motioned across the field, "One of them reached out and motioned directly at me. I... I don't really remember what happened next. I got up, but then..." Legolas trailed off uncertainly. The elf shook his head as if trying to rattle some forgotten memory from his brain. "Ugh! 'Tis all a blur," he sighed wearily, rubbing the pinch of skin between his eyes. "All I can remember for certs is that I heard a strange song which words I could not understand, and then..."

A flood of unbidden images rushed into Legolas head. A blood-red stained sky. A desolate wasteland of blackened ash. The stench of smoke and burnt flesh. All the horrific visions flashed through the elf's mind like images cast by the light of a sputtering candle. 

"Legolas...?"

Legolas felt his knees buckle under him as the images of five shadow-cloaked wraiths with faceless black holes under low hoods of dark grey flashed in his mind. He could not help but shudder as he remembered the way the ghostly phantoms stood over him singing their strange, haunting chant as the deafening roar of a thousand tortured souls screamed in his ears. 

"Legolas?" 

The elf was startled out of his trance by the sudden calling of his name, and elicted a small gasp as though he had been awakened from a deep sleep. His head snapped towards Aragorn who now stood close beside him with a strong hand on his slender shoulder. "Are you alright, my friend?" the king asked with great concern in his voice. The man's eyebrows knitted together in the center of his face as he observed Legolas closely. The elven prince looked extremely pale and shaken. His usually sharp and piercing blue eyes seemed distant and troubled, and the warrior's whole demeanor seemed to be set on edge. 

Legolas stared back at Aragorn silently with a look of subdued panic in his eyes. "I...I...," he stuttered, shifting his eyes distractedly back across the field to the crowded seating section opposite them. 

The elf's sharp eyes hurriedly scanned the sea of faces. He could not make out any signs of the mysterious cloaked figures. It was as though they had just disappeared. But that was impossible. Where could they have gone? It was too crowded for them to have maneuvered through the crowd and leave the tournament field so quickly. Perhaps they had just melded back into the crowd. But if that was so, why was it that no one else seemed to notice five tall men dressed in dark cloaks amongst them? 

~Am I imagining things?~ Legolas wondered, beginning to doubt what he had seen. ~Perhaps it was the heat like Aragorn said. No one else seems to have noticed them. Maybe it was all just an illusion...~ But this logical reasoning did little to ease the elf's growing uneasiness. The images of the apocalyptic dream remained too fresh and vivid in his mind. It was as though he had really been there, and heard and felt everything that had happened. He swore he could still hear the faint echo of ghostly victims screaming in his ears. 

As his sharp elven eyes scanned the crowd one last fruitless time, Legolas suddenly no longer felt safe. Shaken and paranoid, Legolas could almost feel the lurking presence of the mysterious wraiths somewhere nearby, watching him. He had to get out of there. 

"I... I am sorry. I fear I have caused too much trouble here," Legolas finally said, reigning his wandering eyes in from the murmuring crowd and looking at Aragorn. "I will leave before I ruin the day's festivities any further..." The elf quickly made to leave but was immediately stopped by Aragorn. 

"No one is asking you to leave, Legolas. I would much prefer it if you stayed here," the man said as he placed a hand on his friend's shoulder. For some reason, Aragorn suddenly felt that Legolas' unrest went much deeper than a mere faint. He wanted to keep Legolas near him, feeling that he had to watch over the clearly panicked elf and find out what was troubling him. Thinking quickly to back up his request, Aragorn added hastily, "Your head still needs to be seen to. If you let me send a servant for some bandages, I can do it here, and then we can finish watching the rest of the tournament."

"An excellent idea," Arwen agreed with forced blitheness, sensing what her husband was trying to do. "I will send for a servant..."

"_No_!" Legolas cried shrilly in panic, seeing his chance of escape vanish in that very instant. Aragorn, Gimli and Arwen froze, staring at the elf in shock. Immediately startled by his own outburst and seeing the shocked expressions on his friends' faces, the prince again tried to concoct a plausible excuse to leave the crowded tournament field. With every passing moment the elf was growing more and more uneasy and nervous by the mysterious disappearance of the cloaked men. As the crowd continued to stare at Legolas from the seating benches across the ring, he could feel their eyes closing in on him, hewing him in by their collective gaze. 

Legolas tried to calm himself. Every particle of his being was screaming at him to run and hide. Trying to regain some composure, the elven prince tried to hold back the panicked tone in his voice, and said as smoothly as he could, "It... It is just that I wish to lie down for awhile. I am feeling a bit tired... Please, do not trouble yourselves with me. I will be fine. I will see you all later tonight at dinner."

Moving before any of the others could react, Legolas gave a hasty bow to the king and queen of Gondor and turned sharply on his heels and all but ran for the small wooden set of stairs leading out of the royal seating box. Left to stare in shock at the retreating elf's back, Aragorn and Gimli stood speechless. Before disappearing down the stairs and out into the bright sunlight, Legolas gave one final nervous glance over his shoulder past his friends to the other side of the tournament ring. Aragorn and Gimli did not fail to miss the naked fear and apprehension shining in Legolas' ice-blue eyes. 

As Legolas disappeared from sight, Gimli turned to Aragorn with a startled expression twisted across his bearded face. "What was that all about?"he exclaimed, totally confused by the elf's unnatural behavior. 

"I do not know," the old ranger replied truthfully with a shake his crowned head. 

"Should I go after him?" Gimli asked uncertainly. Half of him wished to run after the fleeing elf and force him to tell him what was wrong. Gimli was extremely disturbed. Legolas was never one to admit he was tired or beg for rest, even when he was a moment away from collapsing with exhaustion. Gimli was also perturbed by the fact that there were very few things in existence that he knew of that could have shaken Legolas so badly. But while worried and deeply concerned for his elven friend, the dwarf felt himself somewhat obligated to respect Legolas' need for privacy.

"Yes, but do not pester him about what happened. Just keep an eye on him. I do not think his head injury is very serious, but he could have another fainting spell is he does not rest," Aragorn cautioned. Staring thoughtfully in the direction Legolas had just gone, the man said, "I do not think all of this was brought on just because of the heat. Something else is wrong. But I doubt Legolas is going to tell us what is bothering him until he is ready."

"That goes without saying..." Gimli muttered as he turned to reach for his ever-present axe leaning against the armrest of his chair. 

"I cannot leave here just yet. Once the tournament is done, I will return to the palace and see to Legolas. He may not take to it kindly, but try and make sure he stays inside until then," the mortal king said. 

Hefting the weapon up onto his shoulder, the dwarf gave a nod of understanding and exited the seating box to catch up with the blond archer. As Gimli also disappeared from sight, Aragorn slowly turned to comfort Arwen who stood near him, clearly distraught with worry for the elven prince of Mirkwood. 

"Do you think Legolas will be alright?" she asked her husband, her ancient grey eyes imploring reassurance. 

Aragorn forced a smile onto his face. "I think so. But I think there is something more to this than we see. Do not worry, I'm sure Legolas will confide in us ovnce he has had time to rest and collect his thoughts." Tenderly taking the elf-maiden's hand into his own, the man led his queen back to the gold-backed chairs lined across the seating box. "Come. We must oversee the rest of the tournament. The people are becoming restless." Nodding, Arwen retook her seat next to Aragorn. 

By now, the herald had reappeared in the center of the ring and was anxiously waiting for the king's orders to proceed. But the crowd was no longer interested in the horse races. Many were engaged in muttered conversations with those around them, speculating as to what exactly could have happened to the elf in the king's seating box. But their speculations were cut short as Aragorn rose from his seat and a loud trumpet blast hushed the crowd into a murmured silence.

As the king signaled for the herald to announce the names of the next two knights to come forth like nothing had happened, Aragorn found his thoughts again gravitating towards the northern wood-elf. Yes. There was something very wrong with Legolas. He could see it in his eyes. Whatever Legolas thought he had seen or heard had truly shaken him. But whatever it was that had frightened him so badly was yet to be seen. Perhaps when he finally returned to the palace they could find out more... 

But until then, all Aragorn could do was to hope that whatever Legolas' vision was, was not some precursor to some greater evil... 

******

"It is him. He is the One..."

"Are you sure of it?"

"Yes. His reactions to the vision were unmistakable. We have finally found Feäglîn* "

"But he is so young..."

"Age does not matter. I saw the spark in his eyes... He is the One. The Light of Manwë has returned. This elfling may seem weak and fragile now, but once his powers have been awakened, he will become the most powerful being in the world."

"Then we must act quickly... Before they get to him."

"Yes. We will make contact tonight, when the elf is alone."

"Do you think he has any knowledge of who he really is, or of what power he possesses?"

"That is unclear at the moment."

"But what if he remembers? It could be disastrous to the mission – especially if they get to him first."

"It is doubtful he would have any memory of his original role in this drama. All we can be sure of is that we must protect him from the Brotherhood..."

"Do you think they know we have found the One?"

"It does not matter. They are not far away – I can feel their presence nearby. We may have reached Middle-earth before them, but they have managed to locate the galednel** almost as quickly as we have. They will waste no time in making their move. We must keep the One away from them or all will be lost..."

"But what if they get to him first?"

"Then the stars will sputter and die, and the world cast into darkness..."

TBC...

__

Fancy-schmancy index of elven phrases and vocabulary

* Feäglîn ~ Meaning 'shining spirit' from the Quenyan words 'feä' (spirit) + 'glîn' (gleam or shine, as with pertinence to the eyes); a given title that will be explained in later chapters. 

** galednel ~ meaning 'green elf' from 'galen' (green) + the Sindarian word 'edhel' (elf). 

Ok, we're up to the point in the story I left off with before I switched the story over to my original pen name and lost all my other wonderful reviews *sob*. Anyway, I'm closing in on the homestretch of the fourth chapter and should have it up soon. (Famous last words…) So 'till then! 


	4. The Gardens

Greetings again! After having a horrendous time trying to move this story into my original account, I have finally succeeded in finishing another chapter for you. I just hope I haven't lost any readers to this change... Anyway, enjoy!

Disclaimer: Lord of the Rings and all affiliated characters are not mine, nor will they _ever _be mine. 

*****

The night was quiet and still. It was that magical time of day when darkness was king and the land lay under its reign of shadows and secrets. The moon hung heavy and low in the obsidian sky, illuminating the darkening world in an unearthly glow, like a surreal dreamscape of mithril-laced dreams.

But while the silver light pushed back the dark shadows of the deepening night, it did not destroy them. For the moon was not like the sun whose golden light shined over the land and cast back the night's woven blanket of darkness. No, the moon was akin to the night, an accomplice of the darkness and its shadows. Its cold, silver light gave no warmth or comfort from the night. It only obscured and added to the mystery of the night's hidden secrets laying in the twilight's dark shadows. 

Echoing out from the silver lined night, the hypnotic buzz of summer cicadas droned in the air. The faint rustle of leaves sounded as a nighttime breeze blew gently through the shadow-draped trees' leafy boughs.

But the calm stillness of the night yielded little peace to even an elf's troubled mind. The twilight shadows cast by the overhanging moon only intensified the gnawing uneasiness of Legolas Greenleaf. In those shadows lay secrets and mysteries of things that exist only in the cold of night and in the depths of minds haunted by the lonely apparitions of restless ghosts and spirits. 

Surrounded by the unearthly ambiance of the unknown, Legolas heaved a weary sigh and leaned down over the railing of his second story balcony. He looked out towards the eastern horizon where the moon was slowly starting its assent up into the starry night sky. 

Legolas was in his private guest room, situated in the far north-western wing of the Hall of Kings. Aragorn had specifically set aside that room for the sole use of the elven prince for whenever he came to visit his friends in Minas Tirith. It was not the largest or most luxurious guest chamber the king of Gondor had to offer, but it was the only one that Legolas would have wanted to stay in. 

The bed chamber was farther removed from the daily hustle and bustle of the palace than most others, and was equipped with large floor-to-ceiling windows. Warm golden sunlight spilt into the room's interior at almost any time of the day, regardless of where the sun was positioned in the sky above. But the one feature the blond prince of Mirkwood liked more than anything else about his personal bedchamber was its large private balcony that opened up over the palace's lush gardens below. 

The whispers of the trees could always be herd just a footstep outside his balcony door. Many times during moments of quiet reflection or before retiring for the night, the elf would find himself out on the balcony, letting the gentle lull of Nature sooth away the cares and worries of the day. 

The palace gardens had become something of a safe haven for the northern-wood elf. When plants and trees wee so few to be found in the heavily populated city of Minas Tirith, Legolas was only too happy to have his garden balcony to retreat to when he felt he could no longer stand the walls of stone and granite. Legolas had come to believe that Aragorn had specifically made his sleeping arrangements a such, just so that the king would could use the persuasion of the palace's vast flowering gardens to prolong his elven friends already frequent enough visits to the capital of Gondor. 

But the gentle rustle of the wind through the leafy boughs of the trees could offer Legolas no comfort or safe haven that night. The elven prince's mind was too consumed by paranoia and memories of strange visions to find any such sanctuary in the sweet fragrance of the flowering gardens below. 

After leaving his worried friend at the tournament grounds earlier that afternoon, Legolas immediately fled in the direction of the Hall of Kings, desperately intent on reaching the safety of the guarded palace and his bedchamber. He needed to be alone. He needed time to try and piece together some sort of reasonable explanation to the strange string of events that had unfolded in the form of five ghostly figures and a haunting vision of a war-ravaged land painted in the hue of spilt blood. 

All the way to the palace through the gaily-colored, festival-teeming streets of Minas Tirith he had run. He ran in a panicked frenzy as if driven by the nip of some unseen pursuer on his heels. He hardly even took notice of the various degrees of shocked stares and glances of the people of Gondor as he flew past them. Legolas could only imagine what he had looked like to them. Half the city probably now thought that the normally stoically calm and collected elven friend of King Elessar had gone quite mad by the way he had sped past them with eyes screaming unspeakable fear and flowing blond hair disheveled and sticking in clumps to the bloody mess that was his forehead. 

But he didn't care what the people of Minas Tirith thought of him. All he had cared about as he ran was reaching the Hall of Kings and the safety of its stone walls. 

He knew not what he was running from, but in some distant corner of his subconscious a dark fear that the cloaked men from the tournament ring were what causing him such distress, as if they were following him, hunting him to await for the most opportune time to strike again. But each time the frightened elf had looked over his shoulder in search of any sign of pursuit, he found none. Instead of being calmed by this fact, the absence of any such stalker only managed to intensify his unwarranted terror. 

Not even when he had reached the safety of his bedchamber and slammed home the bolt of his door into the thick wooden doorframe of his room was Legolas able to erase the profound feeling of being followed and watched. 

Terror and apprehension crept along the back of his neck like the caress of icy fingers. Cold shivers of paranoia ran down the length of his spine to the small of his back, sending each and every one of his nerves on alert. 

Tormented by imaginary eyes crawling across his skin, calculating and gauging his weaknesses, the elf had become so frantic at one point that he had even throughly searched his room for any signs of his unseen stalkers. But he had found no one, leaving his unfounded paranoia to fester and brood in his already harrowed mind. 

His head had felt like one massive throbbing wound, but he could not bring himself to lay down to rest. He was too afraid that if he were to let down his guard even for one moment, one of the cloaked phantoms from his horrific vision would return to reclaim its victim. 

In the end, drained of energy by the pain of his head wound and the anxiety of the day's distress weighing on him more than he cared to admit, Legolas had finally settled himself on the coverlet of his king sized bed. Legs tucked tightly beneath him and back pressed firmly against the headboard of his bed to guard his blind side out of fear that one of the dark shadows of his paranoia might suddenly materialize out of think air and attack, Legolas sat and waited, consumed in a cloud of agitation and fear. One of his long, white knives laid at the ready by his knees.

Every little sound startled him. Every little movement outside his windows down to the very rustle of the wind through the trees had been enough to make the elf grip the handle of his knife nervously as his sensitive ears strained to detect the approach of any unwelcomed intruder.

He knew he was being paranoid, but he no longer felt safe even in the heavily guarded palace of King Elessar, one of the most powerful rulers in the world. 

The incessant twinge of dread and trepidation festering in his mind troubled Legolas. It strongly reminded him of his reoccurring nightmares of sheer terror that had been plaguing him for the past few months now. It was the same unfounded panic and fear that had numerous times before awoken him in the dead of night drenched in a cold sweat of terror. No matter how hard the shaken elf had tried, he could not dispel the foreboding sense of impending doom gnawing at the back of his mind. 

Since returning to the palace and holing himself away in his room, seeking safety, several servants had come around, politely knocking at his door and asking if he needed anything. Legolas had a sinking suspicion that a certain king or dwarf was behind the attentive service; but whether that was true or not, Legolas had just as cordially turned them all away without even opening his chamber door. It was only when a irritated dwarf came pounding on his door did the elven prince allow anyone entrance.

It had been only out of reluctant obligation to his friend that Legolas had actually unbolted the lock to his bedchamber and opened the door a crack to address the dwarf. Though Legolas had feigned exhaustion from the day's activities in the hot summer sun, Gimli would hear none of it and forcefully shouldered past his friend standing in the doorway and invaded the elf's abode. 

Gimli had said he had come with the excuse of boredom and the need of finding some friendly company until Aragorn and Arwen returned from the festival later that day. Though he had made a valiant attempt to seem casual, Legolas had immediately seen through the dwarf's masquerade. He knew Gimli had really come to check on him and see how he was faring after his apparent fainting spell at the tournament grounds. Though the elf appreciated his friend's show of concern for his welfare, it soon began to feel as though the dwarf was hovering over him like some worried mother hen. 

Even though he acted as though nothing out of the usual had happened, Legolas knew Gimli was itching to ask what had really happened to him back at the festival. The elf could see it in the surreptitious glances his bearded companion cast him every time he thought he wasn't looking. 

After entertaining the dwarf with several very long games of cards, Legolas had finally become so desperate to be left alone and escape Gimli's incessant fretting that he had had to resort to feigning a terrible headache to finally get the dwarf to leave. Though his friend's presence had helped sooth some of his unfounded uneasiness and trepidation, the elven prince did not want any company just yet. He still needed time alone to think, and try to sort out what he had seen and what had happened to him back at the tournament ring. He still could not explain what exactly had happened, but he was determined to prove to his friends that he had not fainted.

Gimli had reluctantly let himself be ushered from Legolas' room; and even as the elf was shutting the door behind him, Gimli insisted that if Legolas should need anything at all or began to feel ill, that he was o immediately come fetch him from his own guest room across the hall. Legolas had immediately given his assurance that he would and quickly shut the door behind his stout, axe-wielding friend with a final, resolute click of the door before the dwarf could stall his exit any longer. 

That had been several hours ago, and Legolas was still greatly disturbed and vexed. The sun had set and the stars were now coming out in the darkening firmament above. He knew it was only a matter of time before Aragorn returned from the festival and also came knocking at his door to check in on his resident elf. 

The deep gash on the side of his head had already closed and most of the swelling already gone down. It would probably be completely healed within the next day or so thanks to his elven healing ability. But Legolas doubted Aragorn was going to leave him in peace that easily without first inspecting the wound himself and giving his own diagnosis of a full recovery. He also doubted his encounter with the king of Gondor would be one without some sort of subtle interrogation as to what happened to him earlier that day in the royal seating box. 

It what Legolas feared about the impending encounter was not Aragorn, Gimli, or even their questions. What he feared to face was he cold and disturbing fact that he honestly did not have any answers to give them, or himself for that matter.

It had felt like he had been transported to another time and place, and had not just fainted or blacked out for several minutes as they had said. That just felt so wrong. So...shallow of an explanation. 

There was more to what had happened. This Legolas felt to the very core of his being. The mere memory of the cloaked men and haunting vision still sent shivers down his spine like a trickle of ice water. And what kind of fainting spell ever did that? 

There was more to this mystery, much more... He just didn't know what.

Legolas gripped the railing of the balcony in mounting frustration. He wanted answers. He wanted to know what was going on and why he felt such doom and fear stirring in his heart like a warning bell. For some reason he felt like he should somehow already know, as if the answers were already there but hidden somewhere deep in his mind where he couldn't reach. It felt like a fuzzy haze on the edge of his subconscious that if he could only grasp it would become clear and everything would be explained. But whenever he reached out for the elusive shadow of whatever it was he was trying to understand or remember, it would tauntingly slip back into the dark recesses of his mind, just beyond his reach. 

"What is happening to me?!" he wailed in a cry of frightened confusion into the darkening night. Legolas leaned down low over the railing, screwing his knuckles into his eyes out of pure frustration. Was he slowly going crazy? Hallucinating? What?!

Ever since he had begun to feel the creeping of a nameless fear on the outer rim of his conscious mind several months before and begun waking in the middle of the night to the sound of his own screams and drenched in a cold sweat, Legolas had felt that something inside him was changing, slowly transforming into something else that wasn't him but _was _him all at the same time. He felt like a stranger to his own body, as if something was hiding and lying in wait somewhere deep within him. 

What had happened to the carefree elf he had once been? Where was he now? 

He no longer knew.

Legolas raised his head, breaking himself away from his troubling thoughts. Trying to clear his mind and come back to knowledge he once had of who he really was, the blond warrior prince let the sounds of the night hum in his ears. A nightingale was singing somewhere in the gardens below. Flowing on the soft evening breeze, the soft buzz of summer cicadas drifted up to Legolas' listening ears. 

Legolas slowly drew in a deep breath of the fragrant garden air. As his lungs filled with the earthy smell of nature, the northern wood-elf suddenly felt better; his mind a little clearer and the world a little less mysterious and dark. He could feel his old self returning, not the frightened creature that had been jumping at every little movement outside his windows all afternoon, but the strong and confident elven warrior and prince he knew he was.

The mysterious cloaked men from the festival no longer seemed so sinister and threatening anymore. The vision of an empty wasteland and red stained sky no longer seemed so sharp or clear in his mind, as if it was gradually fading from his memory like a bad dream. 

Legolas looked out over he gardens below and out towards the thick leafy boughs of the tress growing near his balcony, feeling a renewed aura of confidence surround him. And for one wild moment, he suddenly had the urge to go running through the trees. It was not a unheard of thing for him to do – he had done it countless times before when he had been feeling particularly frisky and in the need of a good bout of exercise to stretch his legs. But instead of being just a playful activity to occupy his time, tonight the thought of racing through the branches and leaves of the trees held a much deeper meaning. 

It would be liberating.

It would be an act of freedom against his fears and unnamed terrors that had haunted him and kept him secluded and hiding in fear all day. It would be his declaration of freedom from fears of the dark or some faceless phantom of his mind. He would prove himself that he had nothing to fear and redeem his pride and self-confidence by running through the trees like he had always done before, with no fear of the night or what imaginary terrors lurked in the shadows of the silver moonlight. 

Legolas really did feel like his old self again. With a mischievous smile, he sprung into the air and alighted on the balcony's narrow railing with the ease and balance of a cat. The ground lay two stories below him, but the height did not seem to bother him. Crouching low on his haunches, Legolas gave one final glance over his shoulder to his brightly lit room whose balcony doors stood open wide and inviting, as if trying to persuade the elf to come back inside where it was warm and there was light, and abandon his foolish quest to disappear into the night.

~No~ he thought stubbornly to himself ~I cannot let myself be ruled by fear...~ 

Legolas turned his back on the building and again looked out into the inky twilight. From behind the halo of soft candle light spilling out onto the balcony from the opened doors of the room, it seemed to Legolas that a thick wall of impregnable darkness stood before him. 

For a moment, the elf had thoughts of turning back and returning to the safety of his room. But he just couldn't bring himself to do that; it seemed so cowardly, especially when there was nothing to be afraid of...

~right?~ 

The elf's hand subconsciously strayed down to the twin, ivory-handled knives hanging from his hip. With a reassuring pat on the sharpened blades of cold steel, Legolas felt another surge of self-confidence.

He slowly tucked his legs beneath him, teetering on the edge of an assured broken neck if he should suddenly lose his balance and fall. But elves were not a race known for their clumsiness, and Legolas seemed perfectly at ease crouched there on the balcony railing several stories above the ground with nothing between him and the unyielding and unforgiving ground far below but thin air. 

Legolas paused for a moment, calculating his jump, and then with one tremendous burst of power from his coiled legs, the elf shot like a spring out over the ground. To an observer looking up from the ground below at that exact moment of the elf's jettisoned leap, Legolas might have appeared like some kind of odd shaped bird against the moonlit sky above before he was finally swallowed by the outstretched branches and thick, leafy canopy of the balcony's surrounding trees. And with only the tiniest rustle of leaves to mark his movement, the elf disappeared into the darkening night. 

******

Gimli paced restlessly. His heavy boots slapped the ground with animated quickness. Walking several paces forward, the dwarf would stop, turn sharply on his heels, and then move to retrace his footsteps before turning yet again to repeat the whole process over once more. As he paced, Gimli wrung his hands agitatedly behind his back. 

The dwarf was currently pacing in the front courtyard of the Hall of Kings, waiting nervously for Aragorn to return from the festival. It had been several hours since Gimli had left Aragorn and Arwen at the tournament ring and followed Legolas back to the palace. It was now nighttime and the king still had yet to return. 

Gimli was starting to become worried. Yes worried – though the proud little dwarf was not about to admit it to anyone else, alive or dead. 

He was not so much worried about Aragorn or his tardiness; he was worried about the elven prince Legolas. 

Gimli's pace quickened at the thought of the blond archer. Something was wrong with Legolas. He had seen it in his eyes when Legolas had first awoken from his faint. He had looked bewildered and...frightened – no, terrified; for there was no better word to describe the naked fear he had seen shining in his friend's eyes. 

The dwarf's agitated steps echoed out into the lonesome courtyard before finally fading into the night. Several White Guards were patrolling the area or standing at attention at the gates or different points around the palace; but for what company they offered Gimli in his fretful state of mind, they were of no more help to him than a troop of stone statues.

He wanted Aragorn there. Then he would have an excuse to check in on Legolas again. Something was wrong with the elf, Gimli could feel it in his bones. Something was troubling Legolas, and something was troubling him bad... He had not failed to notice one of Legolas' knives sitting at the ready on the coverlet of his bed earlier that day when he had managed to get inside the elf's apartment. Even for the short amount of time he had managed to stay in that room and observe Legolas, Gimli had felt a certain heightened tension in the air – as if Legolas was waiting for something... 

Gimli' pacing quickened. 

Why was Legolas acting so strangely? He had never thrown him out of his room before. Something was bothering the elf... But what?! Never before had he seen his elven companion lock himself away in such... fear...

The dwarf kicked at the ground in frustration. He wanted to help his friend. But every time he had tried to tactfully find out what was bothering Legolas, the elf would skirt around his implied questions and statements, or just simply not acknowledge them at all. It was like Legolas was hiding something, or was disturbed by something so much he could not bring himself to speak of it.

It was almost like Legolas was a different person...

Gimli shook his head in frustrated disgust. He needed help. He needed help to get Legolas to open up and tell him what was wrong so that he might be able to help him. ~Damn you, Aragorn. It's already after sundown. Where are you?~ The dwarf gave a sideways glance towards the front gate of the courtyard for probably the thousandth time since coming downstairs to wait for the king to return. 

Almost as in answer, the distant sound of horse hooves clattering over cobblestones caught the dwarf's ears. 

His nervous pacing ceased immediately. He quickly turned to the gate. As he stood watching in tense anticipation the first of a small entourage of mounted soldiers came riding through and into the warm torch light of the courtyard. Encircled by an escort of armed guards rode the very man Gimli waited for. 

"I am sorry," Aragorn said as he swung down from his horse and turned to address Gimli who had ran out to met him halfway across the open courtyard. "I tried to leave as fast as I could, but every time I got the chance to leave, something else came up." Agitated helplessness tainted the man's voice as he quickly handed off his horse's reigns to one of the stable hands that had come up to take them. 

"Where is Legolas?" he then asked. Just like Gimli, Legolas' sudden fainting spell and odd behavior earlier that day at the tournament field had been troubling Aragorn. He thought he could sense something wrong with the elf. Though he did not have anything to base his unfounded suspicions on, thought he could feel something darker and more ominous connected with his friend's mysterious faint than there was at face value. The theory that Legolas had merely become overheated and blacked out just did not hold as much weight as it once had as a possible explanation for the elf's sudden swoon. 

"Inside his room. He's been in there all day – hasn't left at all. The elf's locked himself in tight and won't let anyone in to see him. I managed to get him to let me in, but he kicked me out before I could really get him to talk to me." 

"Did he seem alright?" Aragorn inquired. 

"If you mean that bump he got on his head when he fell, the elf seemed perfectly healthy to me..." Gimli replied with an off-hand shrug of his shoulder in a tone of almost casual indifference which he usually used when bantering about his elven companion. But as he remembered his friend's mysterious distress and unexplainable unease earlier that day when he had been in his room, the dwarf's demeanor quickly became more serious and grave. "But something else is wrong with him.." he then added, his tone now low and foreboding. "I don't know what it is, but Legolas seemed on edge, as if he was waiting to be attacked or something... When I was in his room, I swear he jumped at every single little noise he heard or movement he saw out of the corner of his eye. He's frightened about something, Aragorn. I could see it in his eyes... But I don't know what it could be..." Complete helplessness swam in the dwarf's pleading eyes, as though silently begging Aragorn for answers to the elf's unnatural behavior that were not there.

The man nodded thoughtfully. Yes, there seriously was something wrong with their elven companion and friend. Gimli's account now verified his suspicions without a doubt. 

"Come, Gimli. I want to check on Legolas," Aragorn said, looking towards the palace, "I want to make sure the cut on his head is properly cleaned and bandaged before he retires for the night. He might be one of the Firstborn, but even an elf can get an infection if a wound is not properly seen to..." But while the healer-king's words seemed straight forward enough, Aragorn's true concern was for the festering wound that seemed to be infecting Legolas' heart and very peace of mind.

There was something very dark and foreboding in the air... 

******

He felt free. So utterly free. 

Legolas felt so intoxicated by the euphoria of complete freedom that it felt as though it ran through his very blood like a drug. He could hardly compare the feeling to anything else but flying. 

All his worries felt far far away, left behind in another time completely when he had stole into the night and taken to the trees of the palace gardens. The elf leapt nimbly from branch to branch. He set no direct path or course, but merely let his feet take him wherever the twisting and interlocking boughs of the trees' canopy would take him. 

Obscure and shadowy outlines of branches whirled past Legolas as he sped by. Slivers of silvery moonlight filtered down through the thick tree canopies and dappled and cast long ghostly shadows across the path of narrow branches he traveled, creating a hazardous track of decietful shadows and treacherous pitfalls. One wrong move and he could easily find himself falling several dozen feet to the ground far below. 

But Legolas was not concerned for his safety. His keen elven sight was not so easily blinded the dark of the night or deceived by its shadows. Even in this faint glow of moonlight, he could see almost as well as he could at any other given time of the day. Nor did he doubt his feet's ability to find the next branch in the darkness. 

He could hear the trees whispering all around him, rustling their leaves in greetings to him as he scurried over their branches like the true elven child of the forest he was.

He felt like his old self again. The one nothing in the world could touch or faze. The one that wasn't haunted by phantoms or grey shadows of a dream. He felt invincible, untouchable there in the lofty branches of the trees, the place where he felt most in his element and where no one could ever touch him.

Everything that had been troubling him over the day were no longer important or even on his mind. All Legolas cared about was the intense sensation of soaring high above the ground as he continued his liberating trapeze through the trees.

Following along the woven path of branches and tree limbs, Legolas soon found himself on the edge of a quiet, moonlit clearing nestled deep in a grove of trees off to the side of the well-tended garden path. Legolas was suddenly overcome with the desire to go down into the clearing and just lay on his back and look up at the stars. It was something he had always done in the past, but for unnerving outside reasons as of late, had not enjoyed for some time now. Reacting on gleeful impulse, the elf quickly grabbed hold of a nearby branch and nimbly swung down onto the ground.

Legolas landed with the grace and flawless skill of a cat. He righted himself and surveyed his surroundings. It was a secluded grassy clearing, several dozen paces long and boxed in all sides by tall and dark trees. The moon and stars shined out brightly against the inky black firmament overhead. 

The blond archer suddenly realized how far he must have gone from the palace in his silvan romp. An endless sea of diamond spread out before him overhead, undimmed and unmuted by the harsh man-made light of candles or torches that usually stole the nighttime sky of its beauty. Legolas' sharp elven hearing could hear no traces of sound he usually associated with the noisy Gondorian palace. All he could hear was the soft chirps of crickets and rustle of the wind through the trees. 

He smiled to himself. It was so peaceful out here. So far away from everything that had ever caused him distress or worry. 

Legolas slowly walked to the base of one of the trees he was standing near and leaned back against its trunk, finding the rough bark against his more reassuring than uncomfortable. He tipped his head back against the trunk and looked up into to the jagged, tree lined patch of star-studded sky overhead. 

The elf felt all the tension of the day's anxiety seeping out of his body as he listened to the gentle, enveloping drone of insects. 

~Why did I not do this sooner...~ he wondered absentmindedly. He felt so calm and at peace, just like his old self. 

His old self... Again with his old self. Why did he suddenly feel like he had to fight to regain who he had once been? He was acting as though he had turned into someone else; like he had somehow changed in a way he could not explain, somewhere deep inside.

~Stop it. You haven't changed. Nothing about you has changed. You are still the same person you've always been~ But somehow even Legolas' own subconscious could not convince himself of this. He felt different, like something deep inside him had changed. He did not feel different in the sense of different feelings or thoughts, but rather a different sense of self.

Whatever peace Legolas had just regained from his flight through the trees quickly left him. A twinge of unease reentered his heart as he thought back. 

Things had felt different ever since the start of his mysterious night-sweats and terrible premonitions of impending doom several months before. It was like he knew something was coming, like his subconscious was trying to warn or prepare him for something...

But prepare him for what?

Ah, now that truly was the question...

Legolas stared up into the star-speckled sky, as if trying to divine answers from the endless black dome of the celestial heavens. But whatever answers the nighttime sky held, it was not about to relinquish them so easily to its immortal gazer.

With a snort of mild disgust and frustration, Legolas tore his eyes away from the glittering stars. Their cold, flickering light almost seemed to mock him and his plight.

~I probably should go back to the palace...~ Legolas thought dejectedly to himself. He suddenly no longer had the desire to run through the trees or look up at the moon anymore. They no longer seemed to hold the appeal they once had. 

Legolas straightened from off the tree trunk he was leaning on and was about to turn back in the direction of the Hall of Kings when he suddenly noticed how quiet it was. The crickets were no longer chirping and a great heaviness seemed to hang in the air. There was no sound, not even the whisper of the wind through the trees. 

The elf slowly scanned the clearing in wary apprehension. Something was wrong. He could feel it on the back of his neck like a cold shiver. 

Legolas' hand strayed down to his side where his twin ivory blades were strapped. His head swung from side to side, his sharp elven eyes frantically scanning the dark shadows of the trees around him. There was something wrong... It was too quiet. 

Suddenly, from somewhere off to his left, Legolas heard the subdued but very distinct sound of a twig snapping under foot. 

His head immediately whipped around on his neck in the direction of the snapped twig. His eyes widened and searched the deep shadows of the surrounding grove of trees for any sign of movement, but saw nothing. 

~There is someone out there...~ 

Legolas' hand tightened around the grip of one of his long elven knives and slowly pulled it free of its sheath. His heart hammered against his chest. A faint film of nervous perspiration began to form across his skin and coat him in his own growing fear. He tried to still his breath and strained his ears for any signs of approach or attack, but heard nothing but the sound of his own blood pounding in his ears. Every muscle of his body instinctively tensed, his senses set on heightened alert, like an animal that knew it was being hunted. 

~There is someone out there...~ he thought again, panic quickly building in his chest.

Legolas slowly brought his bared knife up in front of him in a defensive posture as he warily backed closer to the tree he had just been leaning on. His warrior training from over a millennia ago had taught him to guard his back from any possible surprise attacks from the rear. And he was not about to abandon his training now. His sharp elven eyes strained to see into the inky darkness of the surrounding trees, desperately trying to distinguish shadow from any possible movement from his hidden stalker. 

But he saw nothing.

There was another muffled sound of movement, only this time from somewhere to his extreme right. 

~There's more than one...~ 

Legolas felt his panic rise into his throat like a thick lump. He immediately spun around in the direction the noise had been issued. He immediately brought his blade up to bear in front of his chest, ready to fend off any attack. 

But what happened next went so fast in the span of only a few scarce seconds that it later took Legolas several long moments of recollection afterwards to comprehend what had actually happened...

Just as he fully came round to guard his right, a muffled puff of air, like a short burst of air being blown through a hollow pipe, sounded from somewhere to his left – directly in front of where he had just been facing. Instincts screaming warnings of another point of attack, Legolas whirled back around on his heels, using every ounce of his elven agility and speed in the process.

But he was not fast enough. Had he been even a half second quicker, he may have avoided the attack... 

Just as he spun back around, an small object whistled past his left shoulder. Legolas cried out in surprise and pain as he felt it tear through the thin material of his tunic and graze his upper arm. Sharp pain streaked across his shoulder like the tip of a hot needle being slashed across his skin. He heard something strike and embed itself in the tree trunk behind him with a dull _whump._

Legolas instinctively clutched at his wounded arm with his armed hand, somehow managing not to drop his knife as he squeezed his shoulder. He could feel blood beginning to bead and trickle down from the shallow cut. It was not a serious injury, only a superficial wound, but Legolas was immediately disturbed by how he had been caught so off guard. 

What was that? An arrow? A knife? No, those were so big, and whatever had barely missed him had been small. 

But before he could turn around to see what had been shot at him, the elf felt his blood run cold as he finally caught sight of one of his mysterious attackers. 

Legolas would have gasped, cried out, or even screamed; but any sound he could have produced at that moment was stolen from his throat before he could even utter the tiniest squeak of terror. 

Standing there on the other side of small clearing stood a heavily cloaked figure dressed in grey. A deep and faceless black hole lay beneath its thick hood, obscuring any features that may have laid hidden beneath it. 

It was one of the same ghost grey cloaked men he had seen earlier that day at the tournament field. 

~It's them!~

Legolas stood frozen in fear, staring in dumbstruck horror. He felt like he was caught in some kind of nightmare. A wave of renewed terror coursed through the elf's blood as he stared at the thing he had almost just convinced himself was nothing more than an illusion brought about by the day's intense heat as Aragorn had suggested. But no. It had not been an illusion. The shadowy creature standing before him was real and not a figment of his overheated mind. 

The cloaked figure stood motionless, like a stone statue, staring silently at the terrified elf with its invisible gaze boring into its cornered victim. 

~Run!~ Legolas' subconscious screamed through his brain. ~_Run_!~ 

If it had been any other person that had attacked him there, Legolas would have not ever even let the mere thought of fleeing entering his mind. He would have stayed and faced his attacker as an elven warrior and prince of Mirkwood. But this was no ordinary adversary. This was the living embodiment of all the nameless fear and terror that had been steadily growing in his heart since the first time he had woken in the dead of night, drenched in sweat and haunted by feelings of impending doom. This was the living embodiment of Fear itself.

Legolas' immediate instinct was to turn and run from the shadowy phantom standing there before him, bathed in the ghostly glow of the moon. But as he turned to flee, he suddenly felt overcome by a wave of intense dizziness that blurred his eyes and sent the entire world spinning out of focus. 

Legolas tried to move, tried to run, but found his legs unable to properly respond to his call for flight. They suddenly felt weak and unable to support his weight. It was like they had suddenly been filled with lead pellets, weighing him down to the spot like some kind of invisible anchor. He could feel his head spinning and saw a fuzzy haze of darkness beginning to cloud along his field of vision.

~What is happening to me?!~ his mind shrieked in terror as he fought to make his feet move, but only managed to take a shaky half-step backwards. His vision was now fading in and out of focus madly, like some kind of deranged kaleidoscope of shadows and moonlight. Legolas struggled to keep his balance, but his head was spinning too much for that. His knees suddenly buckled beneath him. 

"_Ah_!!" Legolas cried out loudly as his legs finally gave out beneath him and sent him crashing down hard backwards onto his tail bone. His knife slipped from his hand and fell to the ground beside him.

The elf's vision swam as he struggled to his knees, frantically trying to blink his eyes into focus on the silent attacker before him. He could feel his eyelids threatening to slid shut. The strong and seductive call to sleep sang softly to him. 

"What did you do to me?!" he exclaimed in frightened hysterics. Legolas tried to rise. His desperate instincts to flee overrode any such rational logic of his inability to do so in his sudden debilitated state. The terror-driven elf was only able to rise himself a few inches off the ground before collapsing back onto crumbling knees. He felt so weak and tired... Like he had been drugged...

Legolas' head shot up towards the tree trunk he had just been using to protect his back. Straining to keep his eyes open and in focus, the elven warrior managed to make out the faint outline of a small, slender object with a feathered end sticking out from between the ridges and hollows of the tree's rough bark – a dart. 

His hand slowly reached up and brushed across the torn sleeve of his shirt and the shallow, bleeding scratch beneath. The whole upper portion of his left arm felt numb. ~Poison...?~ he thought automatically with a churning pit of dread in his stomach. 

Legolas turned back to the wraith which still stood on the other side of the clearing as still and silent as he had last seen it. Tall and ominous, the cloaked creature made no move to approach its wounded prey. 

"What do you want with me? Why are you following me?" Legolas cried in a failing voice as he reached for his long knife laying beside his knee where he had dropped it. Legolas' fingers shakingly wrapped around the familiar grip of his weapon. "Tell me! Who are you?! Why are you doing this?!" he demanded as loud as he could in the drugged slur of his voice as he brought the blade of his knife up in front of him and pointed it threateningly at the cloaked figure, daring it to make a move against him. "WHO ARE YOU?!" he screeched in a building frenzy of cornered fear and terror as he stared up helplessly at the phantom wraith. 

But before he could elect any answers from the silent figure, Legolas felt a cold hand slip itself under his chin and jaw and retch his head backwards over his shoulder. The elf cried out, but was immediately silenced by the sudden pressure of sharpened metal against his throat. 

"Drop your weapon," hissed a deep and masculine voice from close behind him, almost right beside his ear. A body was pressed tightly against his back, pinning him against his unseen assailant's chest. The prince could feel the warm breath of his attacker on the side of his neck.

Legolas instantly froze, eyes wide and knife unconsciously still clenched firmly in his hand. He could see nothing but the dark jagged tree line against a portion of the star filled sky overhead in the odd, semi upside down angle his head was being pulled back in. 

"Drop it," the voice ordered again. The attacker slowly drew Legolas' head farther back, thrusting the soft underside of the elf's jugular up closer against the cold length of metal held to his neck. The blade bit deeper into Legolas' throat threateningly. 

Legolas felt his grip on reality slipping. Whatever had been on the tip of that dart his attackers had used on him was quickly winning over any resistance he could have given – regardless, it seemed, of the fact that it had only grazed him. The hazy ring around his vision was steadily growing, slowly swallowing him in its unnatural darkness. He was beginning to doubt that even if he didn't have someone holding a knife to his throat he would have been able to make any use of his weapon or defend himself very well. Darkness was quickly stealing over him like a cloud passing over the sun. He could feel himself slowly weakening, even as he knelt motionless on the ground at the mercy of his armed attacker.

He felt the blade sink into the soft flesh of his throat a little deeper, emphasizing his attacker's growing impatience. Unable to do anything else to escape or save himself at that moment, Legolas let his knife slowly slip from his hand and fall to the ground... 

******

"Legolas? Legolas, open the door!" Aragorn called out loudly, pounding at the door of his friend's room. There was no answer from inside. 

"Damn you, elf! Open the blasted door!" Gimli bellowed. The dwarf's gloved fist joined in on Aragorn's siege on the locked door of Legolas' bedchambers. Still no answer. 

The king and dwarf exchanged an apprehensive glance. They had been trying to get into Legolas room for the past several minutes now, but with no answer from the resident elf inside. Both were becoming very upset and worried by Legolas' lack of response. 

"Aragorn, why isn't he answering? He let me in earlier this afternoon," Gimli cried in exasperation as the two finally relinquished their attack on the thick wooden door. 

Aragorn stared at the locked door, a deep frown of worry pulled across his face. Something was wrong here. Legolas would never refuse either of them entry into his room unless something was extremely wrong. Like a psychic premonition, a strong feeling of foreboding unease churned Aragorn's stomach. 

And from some distant corner of his mind he suddenly had the unshakable feeling that Legolas was in danger... 

"Stand back, Gimli," he ordered as he backed up several paces away from the door. The dwarf obediently stepped aside, understanding what Aragorn was about to do. 

Lowering his shoulder like a battering ram at Legolas' room, Aragorn charged forward. The man's shoulder met with the strong resistance of the thick wooden door with a hollow bang. The sickening crackle of splintering wood sounded from the other side of Legolas' door as the internal locks and tumblers of the door bent forward under the pressure of Aragorn's weight. But they still held stubbornly. 

Undaunted, the king backed away and rushed at the door again. Blind panic and concern for his friend's welfare added strength to the man's desperate assault. This time as Aragorn's shoulder rammed into it, the door could not withstand the driving force and finally gave way with a low groan of bending wood and the sharp snap of the internal locks and tumblers of the door exploding apart. The door burst open, spilling the man into the war candle light of the elf's room.

Aragorn stumbled forward, momentarily thrown off balance by the sudden disappearance of any resistance. Catching himself before he fell, the king stood and surveyed the interior of Legolas' room. Gimli was immediately there by his side. His small bearded head swivelled around on the base of his neck, frantically searching for any signs of his elven companion. 

Several candles were burning low at different points around the perimeter of the room, illuminating the entire room in a warm, homey glow. 

Though they were not overly surprised, the disturbing fact of the situation still hit them hard. The room was empty. 

"He's not here," Gimli muttered in grave dismay. His dark brown eyes still scanned the room though, as if he could not completely comprehend the undeniable absence of its resident elven prince. The dwarf looked up to Aragorn helplessly. Unmasked worry swam in his little eyes. "Where could he have gone, Aragorn? I didn't leave to go downstairs until about fifteen minutes ago. If he had tried to leave before that I would have seen him."

"I know, Gimli. But I don't think Legolas left using the door. It was locked from the inside and there's no way he could have left with the door being locked the way it was," the king of Gondor said, casting a foreboding glance over his shoulder to the shattered remains of the lock laying scattered across the pale red carpeting of the doorway. 

Scanning the room closely, Aragorn's eyes came to notice the open doorway leading out to the room's balcony. He quickly walked towards it and stepped out onto the balcony. Gimli followed close behind him, distraught with worry for his missing friend. 

Aragorn slowly came up to the stone railing of the balcony and thoughtfully looked out into the darkened foliage of the surrounding trees. He subconsciously ran a hand across the cold and rough surface of the railing and stared out ahead into the moonlit gardens below.

"Well? What is it?" Gimli barked impatiently, "Where did Legolas go?" There was a distinct hint of panic in his voice as he demanded answers from the sharp sighted ex-ranger. 

Aragorn slowly exhaled the tense breath of air he hadn't even been aware he had been holding. He suddenly felt foolish for his unfounded fear of Legolas' safety. He slowly turned to face the dwarf standing near him by the doorway of the balcony. "I do not think there is anything to worry about," he sighed with a small smile of relief, "I think Legolas just went for a late night stroll through the gardens – or through the trees I should say..." 

Gimli stared back at the man with an expressionless look plastered across his bearded face for several long moments of silence. "You mean to tell me that that elf just went for a run through the trees," he finally managed to say. Anger simmered in his undertones. "That's just what some inconsiderate elf would do! Just go and leave his friends to worry while he goes to talk to trees and trapeze through them like he's some kind of overgrown squirrel!" the dwarf spat, quickly working himself into a fit.

"Peace, Gimli," Aragorn soothed calmly. He knew Gimli was only venting his worry and frustration for the blond elf in the form of anger again. "I think Legolas just needed some time to himself outside of the palace. Like you said yourself, he's been inside all day. You know how nervous and unsettled Legolas can get if he's kept indoors for too long. He probably just needed to get a breath of fresh air. He'll probably be back any time now."

Gimli huffed and grumbled something unintelligible in dwarfish under his breath. Aragorn thought he caught the word 'elf' and some other string of words that would not have been suitable for polite conversation. Though slightly embarrassed by his stout little friend's colorful choice of language, the king had to stifle a small smile. He had grown accustomed to the strange ways Gimli and Legolas displayed their friendships for each other, and was almost certain that if the roles had been reversed, Legolas would have been spouting some less-than-princely phrases about a certain red-haired dwarf right about now too. 

"Come. Let us go back inside to wait for Legolas," Aragorn suggested, emphatically ushering the still sputtering dwarf back towards the door, "We need to think up a good story to tell Legolas before he gets back explaining why his door is no longer in existence..."

But as the two were about to turn and go back inside the brightly lit room, a sharp piercing cry suddenly rent the peaceful nighttime air. 

Aragorn and Gimli both froze dead in their tracks, immediately tuning their ears onto the distant cry as it slowly faded away into the darkening twilight. It was only when the hum of undisturbed nighttime silence returned to sting their listening ears, did the man and dwarf finally break out of their startled trance. 

"What was that, Aragorn?" Gimli asked in a hushed voice, as if afraid to break the tense silence that now hung in the air. 

Aragorn quickly strode back to the edge of the balcony and scanned the surrounding trees and ground. "It came from the gardens..." he whispered almost ominously. A new wave of anxiety for his missing elven friend's welfare washed over him. 

Their eyes snapped towards each other, as if both had been thinking the exact same thought as the other in that very moment. Apprehension and growing dread shined in both sets of eyes. 

"Legolas..." they both murmured under their breaths in mutual dread. 

Without saying anything else, the man and dwarf swiftly turned on their heels and sped for the demolished doorway of the room.

*****

TBC...

*****

*_Gasp*_ Oh, no!! Legolas is trouble! Will Aragorn and Gimli get there in time to save him? Oh well, I guess we'll just have to wait and find out next chapter. I'm sorry it's taking me so long to get to the really good stuff, but I promise I will finally explain who these mysterious cloaked men are and why they are after Legolas in the next chapter. Things will finally be explained (except, of course, for a few plot-twists and surprises I still have hidden up my sleeves...), and the second part to this story will soon be revealed. 

So if you like what's happening so far and want me to continue, drop me a quick review and tell me what you think. 'Till then!

Signing out

-LAXgirl

Alexa: Oh my God! You play lacrosse too? I finally found a kindred spirit! So you play D-wing and point? I usually started out at attack-wing and then would eventually mosey on down to play some home later on in the game. This is_ so _exciting. We're going to have to e-mail each other and talk some more lacrosse! 


	5. Forces of Good and Evil

OK now! Who's seen "Pirates of the Carribean" yet? I saw it opening day and oh-my-God does Orlando Bloom ever look hot! 

Usual Standard Disclaimer: No. Lord of the Rings and all affiliated characters still aren't mine. 

*****

"Just stay still and you will not be harmed," whispered the faceless voice from somewhere close to Legolas' ear. 

Legolas did not move or give any hint of struggle as the mysterious attacker slowly removed his hand from under his chin and reached down to the one remaining knife hanging down from Legolas' side. Grasping the handle and pulling it free of its sheath, the unseen man tossed it down on the ground next to its twin. He then gave both a swift kick and sent them flying far out of reach for the captive elf to make a grab for. 

"What...do you... want...with me?" Legolas panted weakly. His breath came in short, raspy gasps. He dared not take the deep drag of air his oxygen-starved lungs so desperately cried out for. Each time the elf tried to draw even the smallest breath of air into his screaming lungs, his windpipe would inflate, pushing his throat up within a hair's width of the sharpened blade pressed to his neck. He was afraid that if he did try and catch his breath, he would only manage in slicing his own neck open. 

There came no answer to his question from behind, but he could feel the blade on his throat slacken a bit. As Legolas felt the ease of pressure on his jugular, his ears caught the soft, almost unnoticeable, sound of cloth rustling over grass approaching him. Whoever was coming towards him moved with an almost silent, inhuman grace; he could not detect the sound of any footfalls, only the swishing sound of rough fabric rubbing together. 

But while Legolas' head was no longer being held back to better expose the vulnerable veins and arteries of his neck. Legolas did not try and lift his head to address the approaching individual. 

He felt too weak. Even if he had had the unmitigated determination to move, Legolas doubted he would have been able to even lull his head to the side. Every particle of his being felt like it weighted a thousand pounds. Whatever drug had been on the tip of the dart that had grazed him was moving with unnatural speed and potency. 

The sky and trees visible to him from the position his head was cocked back in looked fuzzy and slightly distorted, as though he was looking at the world through a piece of gossamer. His head felt strangely disconnected from his body, and the numbed sensation around the upper part of his wounded arm had now traveled up to the round of his shoulder and down to the point of his elbow. He felt like he was slowly slipping away into a bottomless sinkhole of black nothingness. 

But before his could evaluate his poor, drugged state any longer, Legolas felt two slender fingers snake beneath his chin and lift his face up from off his shoulder. He groggily tried to blink his eyes into focus as his heavy head lulled forward on the support of the hand cradling his jaw. Before he could get his bearings, his face was then titled upwards as if for inspection.

"Who...?" he tried to slur, but was cut short by the nauseating swim of his eyes falling madly in and out of focus. 

"Hush, young one," came a deep, but strangely melodious voice from somewhere beyond the swirling tempest of light and shadows clouding his vision. 

The distant voice finally gave Legolas something to focus his waning vision on. Struggling to hold his composure, the drugged elf looked up at the one holding his face up in the cup of his hand. For a moment, he could see nothing but a swirling maelstrom of shadows. But as Legolas stubbornly blinked his eyes in focus, the world slowly coalesced into the form of a tall, hooded figure leaning down over him. From beneath a heavy grey hood, a faceless black hole stared back at Legolas. 

Legolas must have involuntarily winced or jerked back suddenly, because the blade that had been only loosely hovering over his throat was once again firmly pressed to his jugular, warning him against such struggles or unexpected moves again. 

"Stay still," warned the voice from behind Legolas. 

But Legolas barely heard his assailant as he stared back in complete horror at the faceless creature now standing barely inches away in front of him. All his sluggish mind could comprehend was the primal instinct in the back of his head screaming at him to run.

A sharp cry of terror finally managed to escape Legolas' lips. He instinctively kicked against the ground, vainly trying to free himself of the thing holding his head in its hand.

"Be still!" demanded the still unseen attacker behind him. The blade at his throat bit a little deeper, trying to subdue the fighting elf into docile submission. But Legolas barely even felt the sting of the blade threatening to cut into his flesh. 

He thrashed madly in his attacker's grip, fueled only by the raging panic and fear that seized his mind. But he could not break his assailant's hold on him. He could feel himself steadily weakening, his energy quickly draining from his body. His eyes never left the faceless black hole staring down at him.

"Let me go!" he cried weakly, straining against his attacker's arms, "Leave me alone!" 

Legolas' feeble struggles posed his assailant no trouble in restraining. For what little energy remained in the elf, it was no more difficult than trying to hold down a kicking, fighting two year old child. But it did not mean it did not agitate his captor all the same. 

"I said _be still_!" the man snarled, finally becoming frustrated with the elf's useless struggles. A hand quickly wrapped around the base of Legolas' jaw and savagely retched the elf's head backwards again. The edge of the blade sunk deeper into Legolas' throat, but by some miracle did not draw blood. 

Legolas cried out in pained surprise as the press of the sharped blade startled him out of his terrified panic and abruptly ended his fight. The elf instantly froze, twisted backwards over the knee of his attacker who had planted it there in the small of his back to try and still the struggling elf. 

Legolas suddenly realized he was at his captors' complete mercy. He was too weak to fight. He could not even break free from his captor let alone flee if he should somehow also escape the hooded figure standing over him.

The icy realization of his situation sent chills down his spine and sent his heart hammering against the inside of his chest. He felt his captor shift behind him, and felt the blade of the knife sink a little deeper into his throat. 

They were going to kill him, this he suddenly knew. 

~Help... Anyone. Please help...~ he prayed silently, closing his eyes and desperately waiting for a miracle.

"Aílend ëin lathir!"

The unmistakable order rang out through the still nighttime air like thunder and froze Legolas in place by the sheer tone of authority backing it. It came from the hooded man standing in front of him. 

"Nàthir calin dîr aín ënclin," Legolas' captor returned mutinously in a harassed tone. His restraining grip across the subdued elf's chest tightened. 

"Aílend ëin lathir," the first voice repeated, his voice dangerously low and calm. "Thaur pälin adur..." he then added with deep undertones of threat behind it. The stranger rolled the strange and foreign syllables over his tongue with musical fluidity. Despite his dangerously precarious situation, Legolas felt captivated by this unknown language filling his ears. 

A tense moment passed before Legolas felt the pressure of the sharpened blade of steel suddenly vanish from his throat. The hand holding his head backwards also disappeared. He immediately gasped for air, coughing and sputtering and desperately sucking deep drags of air into his oxygen-starved lungs. His neck stung where the knife had left a reddened impression and shallow groove in his skin. 

As his coughing slowly subsided, Legolas suddenly realized he had heard this strange language his attackers had just been using before. It took a minute for his drugged mind to place, but when he did he quickly recognized it as the same archaic form of Quenya he had heard being sung in a strange, haunting song earlier that day at the festival. 

The faint rustle of cloth brought the drugged elf out of his sluggish thoughts. At first he thought the sound was coming from the one wraith still standing over him. But as he forced his failing senses to focus, he suddenly realized the sound was coming from all around him. Lolling his head forward like a sandbag on a pivot, Legolas saw several dark figure crossing the clearing towards where he and his two captor stood. 

His eyes burned with the fog of the dart's effects. Darkness was slowly enfolding him in its cold embrace, but Legolas somehow managed to blink his eyes into focus again. As the figures drew nearer, the ghostly outlines of three more phantom wraiths - like the one that stood before him - came into view. 

The blond archer tensed, but did not begin to struggle as violently he had done when he had first seen the first one. He suspected it had something to do with the drugged dart that had grazed him... 

The small jerk of his lethargic muscles must have been taken as another sign of attempted escape; his captor immediately clasped the elf tighter against his chest, pinning Legolas' arms to his sides and immobilizing him against any other movement. 

Legolas stared in dumb-struck horror as the other three wraiths glided to a halt beside their companion in front of him. They formed a tight semi-circle around the helpless elf, standing over him in a horrifying reenactment of his earlier vision. 

He wanted to cry out in fear, but was unable to produce any sound in his constricted throat. Legolas' head buzzed uncomfortably with the unnatural stupor the toxin placed on the tip of the dart had put him in. His whole left arm now felt numb.

"What do you want with me," the elven prince somehow managed to slur in a weak whisper of fading consciousness. He was struggling to keep his head from falling to his chest or succumbing to the invading darkness. An uncertain murmur ran through the group of hooded wraiths, as if trying to decide wether to entertain the drugged elf with an answer or not. 

"All will explain in due time," finally answered the deep voice from before - the one that had stopped the one holding him from slicing his throat open. For the first time, Legolas realized the strange accent permeating his captor's speech whenever he spoke the Common Tongue. The tallest of the assembled wraiths slowly stooped down before Legolas, bringing the empty black chasm of the hood eye level with the captive elf. The mysterious man again reached out and tilted the prince's face up for him to look into. Legolas sat motionless as his head was turned from side to side, as if his captor was closely examining every angle of his face. 

Legolas' face was then pulled closer, coming withing mere inches of the wraith's empty hood. The elf averted his eyes, quickly. He did not want to have to look under the thing's low grey hood and see into the endless black hole that was its face.

"Look at me," the wraith ordered. Legolas did not move, and kept his eyes defiantly turned away from his captor's face. "Look at me," he said again, a little sterner. The wraith brought his other hand up to the side of Legolas' cheek and turned the elf's averted face towards him. 

Too weak to put up resistance or muster the will to defy his captor's insistent command any longer, the prince slowly turned his eyes up into the faceless black hole. But what surprised him was that this close up in the pale moonlight Legolas could now make out the shadowy visage of what looked like a nose and mouth hiding beneath the wraith's heavy grey hood. He thought he could even make out the faint impression of cheek bones and the hollow dip of two dark eye sockets, but was unsure because of the heavy shadow still hiding more than half his captor's face.

Legolas stared into the endless black shadow of what he assumed were his captor's eyes. His sapphire eyes shined in the moonlight with stark curiosity. 

Could it be that these truly were not wraiths as he had first thought? 

As he pondered this, a sudden thought occurred to him; one that had not crossed his mind before, but seemed painfully obvious to him now. Could these mysterious cloaked figures be elves? The archaic form of elvish would suggest this, but then where would they have come from? The young prince had never heard this form of elvish ever spoken before. And then there was their unforseen attack. No living mortal would have ever been able to sneak up on him as these had done. Only an elf would have managed to have approached him with such stealth. 

These new implement spun Legolas' head, creating a whole new set of burning and unanswerable questions. 

Legolas stared up into his captor's face, looking straight into what he assumed were his eyes, as if trying to mine answers from the impregnable shadow hiding the mysterious man's (elf's?) face. 

"Ailín santhir cûl? [_Is it him?_]" asked an unfamiliar voice from one of the other elven wraiths watching them.

The hooded head of the one holding Legolas' head nodded. "Iel [_yes_]," he said in affirmation. 

Legolas felt a sudden lose of connection as his captor turned his head and looked back over his shoulder to the other three wraiths standing around them. 

The hand supporting his head disappeared, dropping Legolas' head back down onto his chest. Though he fought to rise his head, he found he no longer had the strength to hold it up on his own. Legolas felt like his body was slowly being drained of energy and the will to fight, and succumbing to unconsciousness. His eyelids felt like a hundred pounds each, and were slowly sliding shut against his will. The hazy fog clouding the edges of his vision was quickly thickening and sweeping over him. 

~No... You have to fight it. You have to stay awake...~ the sedated elf coaxed, desperately trying to fight off the growing darkness. But he was quickly losing the fight. The seductive call to fall into the blissful nothingness of sleep was starting to become too much for Legolas to fight off for much longer. 

"Lóthir nin e ülin [_We must leave_]," came a voice from somewhere above him. The voice sounded distant and garbled. Legolas thought it may have been the one he had just come face to face with, but in his current semi-comatose state he was unable to be sure. "Aur cálin forgöth ain endûr... [_Before anyone discovers him gone..._]"

A murmured agreement rippled around him, and before Legolas knew what was happening, he found himself suddenly being pulled to his feet by the one holding him captive from behind. His knees immediately buckled. A pair of rough hands quickly slipped beneath his armpits and kept the unsteady elf from falling back to the ground. Without a word, the one holding up then him up pushed him, making Legolas stumble forward. Two other pairs of hands griped his arms and began to quickly pull him forward, half dragging, half carrying the elf's limp body. 

Through the foggy haze clogging the inner workings of his mind, Legolas suddenly realized what his captor's were doing. 

~No! They're taking me - kidnaping me! I have to fight!~

Primal instincts of self-preservation kicking in, the elf dug his heels into the ground. A grunt sounded from behind him as he felt the one pushing him forward smash into his back. The two dragging him by his arms stumbled forwards, not expecting resistance from their half-drugged captive. Using the small window of opportunity his caught off guard captors presented him, Legolas concentrated his last remaining strength and thrashed wildly, desperate to break free of the ones holding him. A startled cry went up as his captors scrambled to subdue their fighting hostage. 

The other two wraiths that had not taken hold of him rushed towards him, intent on aiding their comrades. Seeing this, Legolas retched his left arm back, ripping it from the one wraith's grasp. He stumbled to the side, thrown off balance by his own offensive move. The attacker that had been holding his right arm let go, startled by Legolas' movements. The one behind him groped to keep a hold of the elf, but was unable to. 

Legolas staggered to his right, struggling to flee. This was his only chance. If he didn't escape now, he would never get another chance. 

The other two wraiths were closing in and the others were quickly recovering. Legolas turned to dash right, intent on making a run for the darkened trees that lined the perimeter of the small clearing. If he could reach them, he might be able to seek cover and throw his attackers off his trail. 

But as he broke completely free of his captors' grasp, he found that there was nothing left to hold his body up. He only managed to stumble several feet to the side before his knees finally buckled under his weight and his legs crumpled out from beneath him. Legolas hit the ground hard. 

The elf immediately tried to push himself up from the grassy ground, but could not muster the energy. He collapsed back onto the ground and lay sprawled out on his side, panting and unable to move. 

~Help... Please help...~ 

From where he lay, Legolas could see the hems of five long grey robes sweeping over the ground towards him. He lay motionless, watching helplessly as the elven wraiths came nearer. He wanted to run, but the powerful drug numbing his arm and deadening his brain would not allow him to do so. His eyelids were drooping lower. The soft buzz of impending unconsciousness hummed in his ears. 

~No...Fight it...You have to...~

The wraiths were sweeping in closer, fanning out to encircle their helpless victim. 

~Help...Anyone...~

One of them reached out and grabbed at Legolas' tunic. The elf tried to squirm away, but was too weak to fend off his attacker. 

"I would not do that again if I were you..." hissed a dangerous, heavily accented voice as Legolas was pulled halfway off the ground by his shirt and shaken sharply as if to impress a point. "You are in more danger than you may realize, little one. We are- "

But Legolas never found out what they were. At that exact moment, an object suddenly streaked through the air and struck the ground near the center of loose circle formed around him by his kidnapers. They all jumped back instinctively; the one holding Legolas loosed his hold on the drugged elf's tunic and let Legolas droop limply back to the ground. Sluggishly rolling his head to the side, Legolas saw an arrow imbedded in the ground not more than three feet from where he lay, its long shaft still quivering from impact. 

"Elon ned! [_Attack!_]" screamed the tallest of the hooded figures - the one Legolas suspected was the leader of the group. "Selimpë ain lánith cur! Fëaglîn elin dûr! Irïsen ai el! [_They have found us! They've come for Fëaglin! Don't let them have him!_]" he shouted in a loud commanding voice. Reaching under his heavy grey cloak, he quickly withdrew a long, silver-edged sword whose blade gleamed brightly in the pale moonlight. 

The other wraiths responded immediately and closed rank around Legolas. More swords were pulled free from hidden sheaths and brandished before their owners' chests. The five elven wraiths moved closer around Legolas, forming a protective circle around the drugged elf with their backs toward him and their weapons armed outwards to defend against attack. 

Their hooded heads swung from side to side, scanning the surrounding trees for signs of the one that had attacked them. Legolas lay helpless on the ground between them, barely able to see anything past the long grey cloaks obscuring his line of sight. 

What was going on? Were they under attack? Could it be someone coming to help him? 

Legolas tried to rise to his elbows, driven by the desperate possibility of this last thought. One of the wraiths saw him trying to lift himself off the ground and quickly stooped down beside him. 

"No, stay down," ordered the cloaked person, forcefully pushing Legolas back down on the ground just as another arrow sliced the air and whistled into trees somewhere behind them, narrowly missing one of the surrounding guards. 

"Saeros, leneth el! [_Saeros, watch him!_]" cried the tallest of the wraiths, pointing down at Legolas. The one kneeling beside the elven prince crouched lower and pushed Legolas down further onto the ground, flattening him onto his stomach. Another arrow whizzed past them, this time striking the ground near the foot of one of the other elven wraiths standing in front of them. 

"Enátharë! [_To battle!_]" the tallest wraith shouted loudly like a battle cry as he held his sword in the air and waved it challengingly. The circle of bodies surrounding Legolas broke. His captors charged forward with a mighty cry, leaving the drugged elf and his one remaining guard behind. 

Finally unhindered with any bodies to block his view, Legolas was finally able to see who it was that had attacked him and his captors. 

Emerging from out of the surrounding trees into the moonlit clearing five tall, dark figures swept into view. Low grey hoods and long billowing cloaks identical to those of his captors masked their faces and stole them of anything that would mark them as corporeal beings of the living world. As they neared, Legolas could see swords held in each of their hands. 

Legolas' kidnapers charged ahead and met the oncoming wraiths in the center of the small clearing with terrible ferocity. The sound of clashing steel quickly filled the air as a wraith from each group ran out to meet one from the other. Shouts of ancient Quenya echoed out into the night over the din of battle. Swords flashed in the moonlight. Billowing grey cloaks whirled around the feet of the fighting wraiths as they spun and danced around each other, their swords whirling and slicing the air in lightening fast attacks and blocks. 

Legolas suddenly felt like he had slipped into some kind of weird dream. For a second he thought he might have been hallucinating by the sheer madness of it all. But as the sound of clanging steel filled the clearing with the sound of battle, Legolas knew it was no dream. What he saw was actually happening.

The elven prince could no longer tell which wraith belonged to what group; he had long ago lost track of them as the identical pairs of cloaked figures continued to spin and fight each other with frighteningly skilled swordsmanship. 

One wraith on the far side of the clearing was battling two others who were attacking him viciously with apparently no qualms of trying to overwhelm their opponent two-to-one. The lone wraith fought valiantly despite the unfair odds, using speed and skill Legolas was sure had never seen before. Dodging left then spinning to attack right, the outnumbered wraith easily kept his attackers at bay. Around him, the other undistinguishable wraiths continued to fight with no signs of tiring or waning of intensity. 

As Legolas watched helplessly from the sidelines in transfixed awe, his eyes were drawn to one pair of battling wraiths in particular. One was taller than the other in stature. Legolas immediately recognized him by his height as being the leader of the band of elven wraiths that had just been trying to kidnap him. The wraith lunged and thrust before then agilely side-stepping his opponent's return attacks. He moved with a fluid grace. His silver-edged sword pounded against that of his opponent, sending up thunderous cracks of clashing steel. 

The wraith the taller one fought against was only slightly shorter in height, but still much taller than Legolas - who was by no means considered short even by elven standards - should the two of them have been stood next to each other. This new one fought with skills equal to that of Legolas' kidnaper. Their swords sliced the air, moving in speeds so fast Legolas was barely able to follow them with his eyes. Only the resounding cracks of sharpened steel marked the consecutive rain of blows delivered between the two. They continued to spin and twirl around one another, dodging, pivoting, attacking, counterattacking, deflecting, evading, then moving in again to strike. 

As Legolas watched from where he lay on the ground as if in a hypnotized trance, he was suddenly overcome by the whimsical notion that the two were in fact not locked together in mortal combat, but rather acting out the complex steps of some exotic dance. But as he continued to watch, it became more and more apparent that what he was witnessing was no dance. 

The fighting suddenly seemed to take on a frenzied pitch. 

The one wraith fighting two opponents at once on the far side of the field was quickly starting to become overwhelmed. He rounded and turned between the two attackers coming in at him from opposite sides with desperateness, unable to make attacks of his own but merely deflect the raining shower of blows coming at him from different sides. The two seemed to sense his waning ability to hold them off and began to press their attacks with more force and intensity. The outnumbered wraith continued to deflect each fatal blow of his attackers' blades but was slowly driven back towards the surrounding trees of the clearing, being pulled ever farther away from any help his dueling companions could have possibly offered. 

The battle raged on. 

Meanwhile, on the other side of the fray, far from where the drugged elf lay helplessly on the ground with an armed guard, the lead wraith of the small band of kidnapers continued to smash his ringing blade down onto the sword of his opponent, oblivious to his comrade's failing defensive behind him.

"Hálinth äi el! [_You will not have him!_]" he hissed between gritted teeth as he caught a blow from his opponent and parried it to the side with a sharp flick of his wrist. "El nándië lorenth! [_He is ours!_]" 

"Aiën! Lorssë nin clir eres sórenthûr éin nôthed! [_Never! I will not let the One fall into your dirty hands!_]" screamed back the shorter wraith as he deflected a bone-rattling strike to the head and retaliated with a sweeping slash to the stomach that would have sliced his opponent's belly in half had he not managed a quick block in time. 

"Lorssë calinthe adûr sórenthe! [_The One is no longer yours to keep from falling!_]" 

The hum of vibrating steel rung sharply in the air as the two swords smashed against each other. 

The smaller of the two wraiths swiftly swung his sword over his shoulder before bringing it back down at his opponent's cloaked chest. "Eno aulâreth aïn menthir! Eno aulâreth aman nédel u emdir lóronë! [_I will not let you succeed! I will not let you use him to bring the world under your power!_]" 

"Aüiren senóth mëa enir, Elendwë... El máriën saûrnith lin au laréssi äin morgeth falglor thîr... [_You cannot stop us, Elendwë... He is the weapon with which we will destroy everything you stand for..._]"

With a howl of determined rage, Elendwë surged forward with renewed zeal, his sword nothing but a blur in the air as it bore down in a whirlwind of attacks on the blade of the taller warrior. The dance began anew. The whirling hum of their swords again joined in the collective din of battle going on around them. 

The two wraiths drove and retreated, instinctively reacting to the movements of the other. It soon became apparent that the two were too evenly matched to make a fair guess at who would emerge the victor. For a moment the taller of the two would seem to hold the offensive, but before his position could be finalized with the defeat of his enemy, the one named Elendwë would recover and drive back, forcing his opponent to go back on the defensive.

But just as it seemed the battle would wage on forever with neither side gaining the clear advantage or upper hand, the tide of battle suddenly shifted. 

From the far side of the clearing a piercing cry of pain rang out over the din of battle. The one wraith that had been fending off the two attackers at once suddenly fell to his knees. He knelt in the grass, bowed forward and clutching his stomach in pain. A steadily growing patch of crimson was spreading across the front of his heavy grey cloak. Blooded seeped between his fingers and dripped to the ground in thick red drops. A rattled groan of pain escaped from under its low grey hood. To any who may have been watching, this would have seemed the death knell of the injured wraith. Surely his attackers would now claim formal victory over their defeated enemy and end his life. 

But the final stroke of the blade never fell. 

With their opponent now down and out of the fight, the two attackers abandoned their attack. Without even a parting glance at their enemy, the two turned and sped away from the injured wraith. A desperate cry – something in ancient Quenyan that seemed to be the equivalent of _Look out! – _went up from the injured fighter as he helplessly watched as his attackers sprinted away from where he sat bleeding on the ground, heading straight for the other side of the clearing. 

There was only the slightest pause in fighting as the other dueling wraiths turned to steal a quick glance in the direction of the wounded fighter. But even as they continued to spin and twirl in their deadly dance of swords, all the while never fully taking their eyes off their opponents, the true aim of the wraiths became clear. The silver gleam of moonlight flashed across their steel blades as they swept in towards the drugged prince and his one remaining guard. 

An alarmed cry went up from several of the fighting wraiths as they saw the other two's intent. "Nië! [_No!_]" screamed the tallest wraith over the ringing crescendo of battle towards his remaining man still guarding Legolas on the other side of the clearing, "Saeros! Hálinth múrië! [_Saeros! Do not let them have him!_]" But before he could say anything else, the ringing sword of his opponent bore down on him once again, stealing his attention back onto the fight still in progress. 

"Hálinth äi el! [_You will not have him!_]" cried the cloaked wraith, Elendwë, as he pivoted out of his opponent's block and spun around to deliver yet another attack. "Urië ai Mellengel lûnthalai Fëaglîn! [_I will not let the Brotherhood take Fëaglîn!_]" 

But there was no answer from the other wraith as he struck again at Elendwë's sword, making his opponent's arm go numb from the force of the blow. Elendwë spun away from his cloaked opponent, bidding for space and time. Stealing a quick glance from out under the lip of his hood, he saw his men nearing the motionless body of the elf. He needed to buy them time. He could not let the elf fall into the hands of the Brotherhood or all would be lost.

Pivoting around on the balls of his feet, Elendwë's sword lashed out again, ringing against the silver-edged sword of his enemy with renewed intensity that sent the taller wraith stumbling several steps backwards from his blow. He could not let them win... 

***

Legolas looked on in helpless terror as the faceless horrors of his living nightmare drew ever closer, their naked swords glittering in the pale moonlight like the sparkling teeth of Death itself. They were getting near, swooping in on him like some kind of horrible bird of prey. Legolas felt his heart seize into a dead lump in the hollow of his chest. The instinctive call to run pounded in his head, urging him to flee and escape this horrific scene of terror. 

But his body would not let him. The power of the unknown drug running through his system would not let the helpless elf move or even lift his head off the ground. He was powerless to defend himself... 

But just as all hope seemed lost and the two wraiths neared the final ten feet or so of where he lay, the almost forgotten wraith guarding over him suddenly jumped into action. He sprung up from beside the drugged elf, whirling around on his feet and brandishing his sword in one fluid sweep out over his head. He brought it down to bear at the approaching wraiths threateningly.

With no fanfare, he leapt at the nearest wraith, swinging his sword out in a violent arc across the front of the approaching men. "Ainathel! [_Keep back!_]" he screamed. The two pulled up sharply, seeing this new obstacle to their goal. The first attacker barely had time to catch the first blow of the guard before another quickly followed it and rang out an echoing thunder of clashing steel. The second one quickly came to his companion's aid and made a wild stab at the guard, pulling him out of his attack. The guard agilely dodged and twirled around to catch another sweep of the first wraith to his head. And as the second joined in, the three cloaked men fell into another round of fierce sword fighting, battling over the confused and helpless elf watching all of this only ten or more feet away. 

~What is going on?!~ Legolas wanted to cry out in frightened confusion. ~Why are they fighting over me?!~ 

With no one there to guard over him, he once again tried to rise to his elbows. But once again, before he could even pull himself an inch off the ground his energy left him and he collapsed back to the grassy carpet of the ground. As he fell limp, Legolas felt the slap of impending unconsciousness knock his senses, sending his eyes spinning madly out of focus as his head deflated and became dangerously light.

~Help... Just please help... Anyone... help....~

The lone guard had somehow driven the attacking wraiths several more feet back from Legolas. He fought with a frenzied intensity, like his entire life depended on wether he kept the other wraiths away from Legolas and doing whatever it was they wanted to do to him. 

The sound of ringing swords filled Legolas' ears until it felt like a thundering roar of pure noise. The world was slowly falling out of focus. The blond archer struggled to stay awake. He couldn't fall asleep now, not with all these mysterious men fighting over him and trying to kidnap him. He couldn't fall asleep.... He couldn't.... 

But the drug was becoming too much to fight any longer. 

Legolas felt his eye slowly sliding shut against his will, the image of the three wraiths battling only fifteen feet away was slowly beginning to fall behind the black curtain of his drooping eyelids. The noise of the battle was steadily fading, now only a distant murmur in his ears. 

But as Legolas' eyes began their final downward decent that would send him spiraling out into the endless black void of unconsciousness, a pair of strong hands suddenly grabbed hold of his slender shoulders and retched him backs up from off the ground. And as Legolas was roughly rolled over onto back and looked up into the face of his attacker, he screamed...

*****

"Gimli! Do you hear that?" Aragorn shouted over his shoulder to the dwarf as the two sped down the dark, moonlit path of the palace gardens.

"Of course I hear it!" Gimli shouted back gruffly as he struggled to keep up with the much longer strides of the ex-ranger. "That's the sound of fighting!" he added breathlessly over the sound of rushing air whipping past him. Aragorn gave no reply and only sped up, widening the gap between the two. 

In the near distance, the echo of clashing steel broke the still silence of the night. A murmured hum of undistinguishable voices gave background to the low sound of waging battle. 

Neither asked what the subdued sound of fighting could mean or why it was taking place in the sanctuary of the king of Gondor's gardens. For now, all their anxious minds could think about was finding their missing friend Legolas. A deep stirring of dread churned in the bottoms of both of their hearts. Could this sound of fighting have anything to do with Legolas' disappearance? They didn't know for sure, but both had a sinking and very unnerving feeling that it did. The driving need to find their friend drove away any such questions from their mind. They could feel something ominous in the air; ever since breaking into Legolas' room and finding it empty. Like a deep seeded link, they knew that if they did not find him soon something very terrible was going to happen to the elven prince of Mirkwood.

They ran down the winding garden paths; Aragorn slightly ahead and barely able to hold himself back from just sprinting ahead at full speed and leaving Gimli behind to catch up with him later. But even in his distraught state of worry, the king knew if the distant murmur of battle did have anything to do with Legolas he would probably need the aid of Gimli's axe. 

Darkened trees whirled by them in a blurry haze of moonlight and shadows. Their hurried feet ate up the ground as they sped away from the safety of the palace out into the shadowy gardens beyond. They were now reaching the far western corner of the gardens, where the boundaries of the palace ended and the surrounding land stretched on beyond the palace walls. The trees were denser here than elsewhere in the palace grounds and there were hardly any tended patches of flowers which both Aragorn and Gimli had thought was some type of unwritten requirement to be considered a garden. The grounds grew freer and untended here, leaving dense underbrush and tall looming trees just off the side of the garden path. 

The sound of fighting had risen in pitch and Aragorn and Gimli could make out the more distinct sounds of voices echoing out from somewhere beyond the wall of trees lining the edge of the path. 

"Down here!" Aragorn cried as he suddenly veered off the path and plunged into the thick grove of trees. Gimli followed without question; the sounds of battle were coming in that direction and he suddenly had the feeling they were now very close to Legolas. 

The two crashed through the dark underbrush of the trees recklessly, not caring wether they were heard or not. They drove through madly, directed only by the growing din of shouts and clashing swords. A dim glow of light shined up ahead towards an area where the trees seemed to thin out. The man and dwarf rushed towards the growing light, driven by fear and anxiety for their missing elven companion.

The trees suddenly gave way completely to the two, spilling them out into a small moonlight filled clearing. They looked around in confusion, momentarily disoriented by the sudden change of landscape. It almost looked like a section of wild forest from what Aragorn could see. The man looked around in shocked amazement. ~I did not know we had a place like this in the gardens...~

But before he could ponder this strange area of the palace grounds of which he had never knew existed any longer, a loud crash of steel shook him out of his reverie. Turning his head to the source of the sound, the man was met with the most strange and supernatural sight he was sure had ever seen. A subdued gasp of shock sounded somewhere beside, Gimli having also noticed. 

Spread out across the small moonlit clearing, twirling and spinning around each other as their swords slashed the air like whirling blurs of silver, were several pairs of dueling cloaked figures. Low grey hood cowled faceless black holes that obscured anything that could have been a face. The ghostly phantoms' long grey cloaks skirted just above the ground, giving them the appearance of actually floating over the ground as they continued to turn and slash at each other in savage swordplay. 

No one seemed to take notice of the two newcomers. Or if they, had they gave indication of it and continued to fight as if they had not gained an audience.

Aragorn and Gimli stared in transfixed fascination at the unworldly battle playing out there right in front of their eyes. The man stood motionless, hypnotized by the fluid grace of the battling wraiths. What was going on? Who were these people? 

It suddenly felt like he had strayed into some kind of strange dream that skirted along the edges of a nightmare. 

"Aragorn!" Gimli then suddenly cried, breaking Aragorn out of his trance and pointing down at an area of grass not far in front of them. Sighting down to line to where the dwarf pointed, Aragorn saw a dark bundle laying on the ground. From his angle, it looked nothing more than perhaps an empty bag or pile of clothes. But as he continued to stare at the motionless bundle, he suddenly noticed what Gimli had seen before he had. Fanned out over the grass near the top end of the bundle lay a mat of tangled blond hair shining dully in the pale moonlight overhead. 

"Oh gods..." Aragorn muttered as he rushed for the motionless bundle, forgetting everything about the strange cloaked men fighting around him. As he ran towards the motionless form, he sent up a desperate prayer to whatever higher power might be listening that what he saw laying there on the ground before him was not who he thought it to be. A fear unlike anything Aragorn had ever felt before exploded in his chest. 

Gimli was right there beside the ex-ranger and they reached the bundle at the exact same time. As he knelt beside the motionless form, Aragorn could see for sure that it was a body laying face down on the ground. Long blond hair streamed out over the person's back like a curtain of silk. A stab of fear sliced through Aragorn's heart as he noticed how familiar the slender form laying before him was.

~Oh, Elbereth, please don't let it be Legolas...Please don't let it be Legolas...~

The man reached down and grasped the person's shoulders. The body gave no resistance and rolled over limply into his arms. 

As the person's head lolled into the crook of Aragorn's elbow, the pale and sickly features of the youngest prince of Mirkwood came into view. The elf cringed back in the man's arms and a strangled cry of terror escaped his lips. His half-lipped eyes stared up at Aragorn's face with no sign of recognition in their liquid blue depths, only a hint of actual awareness in them. He weakly threw an arm up in front of him, as if trying to shield himself from some invisible attack. Obviously the elf thought someone was trying to hurt him. 

"Legolas?! Legolas, what happened to you?" Aragorn cried as he held the disoriented elf to his chest. The man gently pushed back the matted blond hair from the prince's face with his hand, trying to calm his friend. "It's ok, Legolas. It's us. You're safe now..." 

"Aragorn...?" Legolas slurred in a distant and dangerously weak voice. His body slowly relaxed and he dropped his raised arm. He looked up at the man with glazed and unfocused eyes as if he was really seeing right through him. Aragorn suddenly had to wonder if Legolas really knew if he was there. His eyelids were slowly sliding shut and his breathing was steadily becoming more and more shallow.

Suddenly seeing how the elven prince was struggling to stay conscious, Aragorn felt a jolt of dread course shock him like an electric spark. "Legolas, what's wrong? Are you hurt?" His eyes immediately dropped down and scanned the elf's body, searching for any sign of injury that would explain his friend's sudden state of being. But he could see nothing. A stir of panic moved in Aragorn's chest. There was something wrong with Legolas, but he could see nothing! How could he help him if he couldn't find the source of the problem? 

Legolas looked up at Aragorn with half-focused, bleary eyes. "Wraiths..." he slurred, struggling to sound coherent. "Attacked me... dart..." He slowly raised a hand and pointed vaguely somewhere over Aragorn's shoulder. 

Gimli and Aragorn both followed Legolas' pointed finger towards a large tree standing not far from where the elven prince lay, unsure of what he was trying to show them. Several dozen paces away, three of the battling cloaked men they had seen when first entering the clearing were still fighting, their swords clashing against each other with terrible ferocity. Two of them seemed to be ganged up against the other, trying to attack him at once from both sides. Though outnumbered and outmatched, the lone wraith continued to press at his opponents, slowly driving them back from where Aragorn, Gimli and Legolas were. The small mesh of other cloaked figures continued to dance and twirl around in their deadly ballet farther yet out towards the center of the clearing. 

At first the man and dwarf thought perhaps Legolas was trying to warn them of the ones that had supposedly attacked him. The elf had by now lost the strength to keep his hand pointed in straight directiveness. His drooping finger was now merely hovering in the air over his chest, pointing in an lazy arch down towards the ground. 

"Dart..." Legolas again whispered in a dying voice. 

Aragorn again looked down at the lethargic elf in his arms. Legolas' brilliant blue eyes were slowly drifting shut. His head sluggishly lolled against Aragorn's shoulder and the hand that was trying to point with finally dropped back down to his side, as if he no longer had the strength to hold it up.

Aragorn felt a surge of helpless panic. What was wrong with him? What was he trying to tell them? He almost looked like he had been drugged... Drugged... Dart... 

The two words swirled in the man's head like leaves caught in a summer storm, their meanings suddenly starting to form into one unnerving idea. And then he finally understood. 

His head whipped around on his neck, straining to look over his shoulder. His eyes desperately scanned the area in which Legolas had been pointing moments before. He completely ignored the battling wraiths still fighting only twenty some feet away from him, his complete attention now tuned onto the task of finding what he was he was looking for. 

Finally he saw it. There, sticking out from the thick bark of the nearby tree, Aragorn saw the faint outline of a slender object with a feather tuft at its protruding end. A dart. 

"Gimli, watch over him," Aragorn said urgently as he eased Legolas' limp body back onto the ground and stood. Without question the dwarf moved to obey. The stout little miner leapt to his feet and stood close beside the elf, his ever-present ax lifted at the ready before his chest daring anyone to try and come near.

Aragorn rushed to the base of the nearby tree. Reaching out and grabbing hold of the slender thing, Aragorn had to pull back hard to free the embedded dart from the thick bark. It finally pulled free, pinched between Aragorn's two forefingers. A liquid residue on the tip of the dart immediately caught the ex-ranger's eye. He swiftly brought it under his nose and sniffed. A strong, acrid smell filled his nose.

Aragorn wrinkled his face in disgust and threw the dart into the bushes disdainfully. 

"What is it?" Gimli called out over the background clamber of ringing swords filling the air all around them. None of the dueling wraiths still seemed to have noticed their presence. 

"Dragon's Breath" the man said ominously, his features dark and unreadable. He quickly returned to Legolas' side and knelt beside the drugged elf. "It is an extremely strong sedative. It's usually used by kidnapers to subdue their victims and keep them under control..." Aragorn looked down at his friend. He could see that Legolas' eyes were glazed and unfocused, but that the elf still seemed to be stubbornly holding onto some small form of consciousness - at least for the moment. He hardly even seemed aware of what was going on around him. 

The man bent low over the prostrate body of his friend and ran a hand down the length of the elf's arm. As he neared Legolas' bicep, he felt a tattered section of cloth rub up against the pads of his searching fingers. Pulling his hand away he saw a small rip in the elf's tunic. A shallow, but fresh scratch lay beneath, the edges of the hair-thin line still bleeding slightly. "He was only grazed," the man observed out loud under his breath, "If it had hit him head-on, he probably would have been unconscious before he even felt the sting of the dart..." He shook his head in agitated disgust. "It was lucky he managed to dodge it. Even with a controlled dose of Dragon's Breath, it's extremely dangerous to use. Too much and it could easily kill a person..." 

Gimli's mouth dropped in aghast horror before twisting swiftly up into a snarl. "But why would these people ever want to attack Legolas? Why would they try to kidnap him?" he said, smoldering anger quickly rising in his voice. His ax obviously yearned to part some heads from their bodies in retribution for the attack made on his elven friend.

"I don't know," Aragorn said, shaking his head with a grim frown, "I don't know, but we have to get Legolas out of here. I don't know what these men want with him, but we need to get him to safety." He quickly reached down and began to gather the elf' limp body into his arms. 

Legolas whimpered softly as he felt himself lifted up and cradled in Aragorn's arms. "Aragorn...?" he called out weakly in a slightly confused voice, as though he did not understand what was happening or knew who was trying to move him. His bleary, half-lidded eyes stared up, straining to see past the fuzzy haze clouding his vision.

"It's ok, Legolas," the man said, trying to keep the elf quiet, "We're going to get you out of here. Just try and stay awake for me..." 

But before Aragorn could move and lift the elven prince, a shrill scream suddenly pierced the air. 

The man and dwarf's heads snapped around in alarm, instantly on guard, looking for the source of the sound. 

Barely even twenty feet away the three wraiths still battled, only now one of the two fighting against the other seemed to have finally noticed Aragorn and Gimli's presence there beside the drugged elf. Another shrill cry rang out from under its hood, as though sending up an alarm. Its companion, pausing in its fight with the lone wraith turned its cowled head and looked in the man and dwarf's direction. 

Aragorn and Gimli involuntarily cringed back at the sight of the faceless hole beneath the low grey hood now staring straight at them. A shiver of fear ran up both the hardened warrior's spine, chilling their blood. 

The first wraith sent out a sharp cry - a guttural sound that may or may not have meant something in some foreign language. Holding his sword threateningly above his head, he lunged in Aragorn and Gimli's direction, trying to dive past the lone wraith that stood in his path.

"_Nië_!!" the outnumbered wraith screamed, lunging to cut off the advancement of the other on the man, dwarf, and elf. 

Seizing the moment of the defending wraith's distracted attention, the second of the two wraiths leapt forward, swinging a wild attack with its sword. A cry of pain rang out. Across the outnumbered wraith's left arm was a deep horizontal slash. Blood poured from the wound, staining the cloaked man's sleeve a dark crimson. It grabbed its arms convulsively but then immediately moved to compensate for the lose of its one arm by redoubling the efforts of the right. He dove back at the advancing wraith, fighting with a mad, desperate type of fury. But the damage was done, and he was now badly injured besides just being outnumbered. His stamina was quickly beginning to bleed dry. 

The first of the two offensive wraiths side-stepped the reckless attack of the one as his companion continued to pound at the wounded wraith, easily stealing its attention away from its companion. A frustrated cry went out from the one as he watched the advancing wraith slip past him and move towards where the drugged elven prince still lay helplessly on the ground, guarded only by his two friends. 

Aragorn instinctively clutched the defenseless form of his friend tighter to his chest as he saw the advancing wraith glide towards them, sword drawn. His hand reached across his and Legolas' body and drew Andúril from its sheath with a long hiss of scrapping metal. He bought it down in a defensive posture in front of his chest, guarding the drugged elf in his arms. 

Gimli's ax was raised, ready to meet the advancing phantom. A feral snarl was twisted across the dwarf's face beneath his furry red beard. His dark brown eyes blazed with righteous anger. Now he would finally get a chance to pay back these villains for their cowardly attack on his friend. Just let them try and get near Legolas...

But before Gimli's axe could avenge the attack on his friend, the sudden shouting of men sounded somewhere beyond the darkened tree line of the clearing, halting the advancing wraith dead in its tracks. Startled by the noise, both Aragorn and Gimli's heads snapped around just as the face of Faramir emerged from out of the darkened trees, followed closely by half a dozen men of the White Guard. 

****** 

It was over. They had lost. 

Two of his men were injured and the enemy had finally broken past the last of the elf's guard. It was over. Mortal men had also appeared, complicating the situation further. The elf could no longer be taken without devastating opposition. There was no other choice now but to retreat and plan a new strategy. 

Battling off the last few attacks of his opponent, the leader of the first band of wraiths gave one final glance in the direction of the elf on the far end of the clearing. It took every bit of his will power to admit defeat and give the signal to retreat. "Darohed! Harennir fenth! [_Retreat! Pull back!_]" he cried out bitterly to his men. 

As his men broke away from their opponents and fled into the gloomy shadows of the surrounding trees, the tall wraith turned back to his opponent. Catching the blade of his enemy against his own, the two stood face to face, separated only by the cross of their interlocked blades. "Nôrethir aïn gathúl, demo sae rothir talénthir ai, Elendwë... Elador nen... [_You may have won this time, but you haven't seen the last of me, Elendwë... That is a promise...]_" Without warning he then suddenly surged forward, pushing against their locked blades and knocking his opponent backwards onto the ground. Not wasting a moment, he turned and followed after his retreating men. 

A hot burning rage rose on his chest as he disappeared back into the night like a ghostly shadow. They would not win. He would not let them. The elf would belong to the Brotherhood even if it meant he had to kill every single one of Elendwë and his men to get him. The One _would_ be theirs... 

*****

"Aragorn! Gimli! What happened?" Faramir exclaimed as he burst into the clearing and rushed to side of his king, "I heard fighting coming from the gardens and came to investigate. What happ - " But Aragorn's faithful Steward got no further than that in his line of questioning as he finally caught sight of the cloaked wraith standing barely ten feet away. A startled gasp escaped his lips. Several of the Guards he had brought with him also cringed back; several others drew their swords but made no sign of moving to actually use them on the ghostly phantom standing before them. Wether they were waiting for orders or too afraid to move was uncertain. 

The cloaked figure did not move, but merely stood there with its faceless black hole staring back at them silently from beneath its low grey hood. Behind it stood its identical companion. The one both had been fighting only moments before was now mysteriously gone, as if it had vanished. 

"Legolas was attacked..." Aragorn said, his eyes not straying from the wraith standing there in front of him for one second. 

"But not by us," interrupted a deep and heavily-accented voice from off to Aragorn's side.

Everyone's head snapped around to the source of this new voice. Gliding up to the group from the center of the clearing walked the tall hooded form of yet another wraith. Behind him two other cloaked figures followed. Behind them were no sign of the other cloaked phantoms they had been fighting. 

From the safety of his friend's arms, Legolas cried out weakly in fear as he saw the approaching wraiths. He huddled closer to Aragorn, seeking protection from the faceless phantom. 

"Just stay where you are!" Aragorn ordered, brandishing his sword at them threateningly. He protectively pulled Legolas closer to his chest, preparing to defend his friend with his life if the mysterious men should suddenly try and attack. Beside him, Gimli was also eyeing the five cloaked wraiths, as if trying to decide which empty hood to part from its body first.

"Peace," conceded the tall wraith quickly as he put his hands up in front of his chest in a sign of surrender, "We mean you or your friend no harm. We were trying to protect him from the ones you just saw us fighting. They wanted to kidnap him."

"That we already assumed..." Gimli growled under his breath. His axe remained raised and ready to inflict damage at the slightest sign of provocation from the group of cloaked men. 

"Who are you?" Aragorn demanded, his sword trained unwaveringly on the cloaked figure before him. 

A long moment of tense silence elapsed before the tall wraith slowly reached up to either side of the faceless black hole beneath its low grey hood. Gripping the cloth firmly in both hands, the mysterious stranger pulled back. As the hood slid away from over the wraith's head and fell back onto its shoulders, the mysterious face of the ghostly phantom was finally revealed. Aragorn and Gimli both gasped in surprise. Whatever they may have been expecting to find hiding underneath that hood was nothing they had actually expected.

Poking out from the sides of a flowing mane of braided, dark brown hair were a pair of delicately curved pointed ears. The mysterious wraith was an elf. 

Illuminated in the pale silver moonlight shining overhead from the star-studded firmament above, the elf's beautiful facial features glowed an unearthly hue. Profoundly deep, ancient grey eyes stared back at Aragorn and Gimli, sparkling like pale diamonds in the nighttime light. Around him, the mysterious elf's cloaked companions were also dropping their hoods, revealing fair and beautiful faces of more Firstborn. 

"My name is Elendwë," said the elf in his accented speech, "My companions and I have come on a mission of utmost importance from across the sea. We have come to protect and defend Legolas Thranduilion from enemies of the Valar that may wish him harm or try to stop him from fulfilling the prophecy foretold long before even the First Age of Middle-Earth..." 

He took a tentative step towards where Legolas still lay helplessly in Aragorn's arms, staring up at him in waning consciousness. Legolas weakly tried to blink his eyes into focus, but found himself unable to break the hazy fog clouding his vision. 

"What prophesy?" the drugged elf whispered in a distant, dying voice. 

Elendwë gave no answer as he slowly glided past Gimli toward where Aragorn still knelt protectively holding the elven prince in his arms. The dwarf made no move to stop the mysterious elf from approaching his friend but continued to watch his every movement with a guarded wariness. The dark-haired elf slowly knelt beside Aragorn and stared down into Legolas' half-lidded eyes. 

"All will be explained soon..." Elendwë said as he gently touched the side of Legolas' cheek with the back of his hand. "Just know that you are finally safe..."

Reassured by that small touch and knowing Gimli and Aragorn were now there to watch over him, Legolas could no longer find the energy needed to hold off the growing ring of darkness around the edges of his vision, and let himself finally slip into the warm embrace of unconsciousness. 

*****

TBC

*****

Phew! Did everybody make it down to the bottom ok? I know I promised I would finally explain everything, but as you can see this chapter kind of went a little bit longer than expected - actually about 17 pages worth, so give yourself a cookie for actually surviving that!

I'm really sorry if there was any confusion towards the end when I kept calling our infamous cloaked guys "wraiths" after I already hinted that they weren't really wraiths at all. I just couldn't think of really any other word that would best describe what they looked like or had the same mysterious ambiance that the word "wraith" conveys. 

Oh, and by the way, all the elvish in here was not real. It's just my own patented version of ancient Quenya. 

Anyway, hope you guys liked it. And thanks to all my reviewers who make my day a little brighter! Don't forget to leave another... Please? 

'Till next time! 


	6. Answers

Well, after a hectic college move in I'm back! Now an official college student this girl here has survived orientation, first classes, and still somehow managed to finish another chapter for all her wonderful readers. I hope everyone's excited because this is the chapter where we finally get answers to all that's be going on. 

Disclaimer: Lord of the Rings and all associated characters are not mine. 

******

  


"Here, drink this," Aragorn said as he pressed a cup into Legolas' hand.

The elf lifted his head from off his chest a bit, and looked at the dark, strange smelling concoction Aragorn had just given him. "What is it?" he inquired softly. 

"It's a tea of Athelas, bayberry grass, and lelenthil leaves. It will help alleviate some of the after-effects of the Dragons Breath and give you back some of your strength."

Legolas shook his head. "I don't need it," he said as he tried to hand the cup of warm liquid back to the man. "I am awake now; I'll be fine."

Aragorn looked at the elf appraisingly for a moment. Though he had awoken shortly after returning to the Hall of Kings, Legolas was still obviously feeling the lingering effects of the strong sedative his kidnappers had almost succeeded in kidnaping him with. The prince was slouched forward in his chair, his hair falling down around his face in a tangled curtain of dirty blond tresses. His usually sharp blue eyes were distant and seemed unable to completely focus on anything for very long. Every so often he would force himself alert through a rapid dint of blinking, but Aragorn could see he was struggling against the induced weariness of the drug. 

"You may not need it, but you _will _drink it," Aragorn said sternly, totally unconvinced by the elf's assurances that he was fine. Legolas shot him a tired but distinctly hostile look out of the corner of his eye. Aragorn met Legolas' icy glare but did not flinch or back down under the elf's piercing gaze. Over the years he had become quite accustomed with having to deal with Legolas' crankiness whenever he was tired or injured like this. It was one of the prince's stubborn pride things. He hated having to admit he needed help or having people fuss over him. And the fact that he already had to be carried back to the palace while unconscious was not helping matters at all. 

Now locked in a battle of wills, Aragorn lifted his chin and crossed his arms across his chest in a gesture of impassiveness. Just to add a touch of smugness to his dominance in the argument, the man non-chalantly shifted his weight onto one leg and stared back at his stubborn patient almost dispassionately as if to say he was ready to stand there and wait for as long as it took until the elf decided to drink the tea. 

Legolas stared back at Aragorn defiantly, his eyes screaming protest to the indignities the man was putting him through. Making him drink this brewed concoction of his like he was a child or some feeble invalid. He was a prince and full grown warrior! He did not need this man telling him what to do. He could take care of himself. 

But Aragorn seemed unmoved by Legolas' silent protests. His eyes remained fixed on the stubborn elf, hard and steely, his stance betraying no sign of backing down. Under normal circumstances Legolas might have made his opposition more well known, but despite his attempts to down play his current condition, he was suffering just as much as Aragorn already suspected. He was just too tired to put up anything more of a fight with the man than he already had. 

Heaving a sigh of begrudged resignation, Legolas shakingly raised the cup to his mouth and took several small sips of the warm liquid. Aragorn moved to reach out a hand to help steady the cup for the trembling elf but was immediately stilled by the warning glance Legolas shot him over the rim of the glass. The drink was faintly sweet in taste and pleasantly invigorating in smell as Legolas soon discovered. But despite its appealing qualities and the warmth and renewed strength it seemed to lend his drugged body, Legolas still had enough spite in him to hand Aragorn the cup back with a good third of the tea still left undrunk. 

Wether Aragorn actually acknowledged the elf's subtle act of rebellion or not, he nevertheless seemed satisfied by the amount Legolas had drunk and turned away to set the cup down on a nearby table that was partially buried in an assortment of medicinal herbs and other items that usually contributed to the make up of a skilled healer's kit. 

Now free of his self-appointed caretaker's fretting for the moment, Legolas slouched back forward in his chair and let his head hang tiredly back down the middle of his chest. He was tired and weary to the bones. Everything that had happened to him in less than the span of one day now felt like a thousand tons weighing down on his shoulders; the festival, the vision, the faint, the paranoia, the wraiths, the attack. All of it felt like some crushing force that was slowly smothering him under the weight of the whirlwind of mystery and unanswered questions. Unaware of his own actions, Legolas subconsciously pulled the blanket that was draped over his shoulders tighter around himself, as though trying to drive away some sudden chill that wasn't really there. 

Close beside him to his left stood Gimli. Ever since returning to the Hall of Kings and retreating to Aragorn's private study, the dwarf had positioned himself there at Legolas' side like some kind of personal guard, protectively watching over the elf even after Legolas had woken out of his drugged stupor. The elf's subconscious act of insecurity did not escape the dwarf's close scrutiny. "Are you cold?" Gimli asked in concern as he placed a worried hand on his friend's slightly trembling shoulder. 

"No, just shaken," Legolas replied truthfully as he hugged the blanket tighter around his slender frame. 

"I am sorry if you thought my men were trying to attack you earlier," interrupted a heavily accented, but beautifully sonorous voice from the other side of the room as a tall, darkly cloaked figure of an elf stepped forward. "We did not know who it was there at your side, and thought your two friends may have been more enemies trying to kidnap you." 

Gimli snorted brusquely. "We thought very similar things of you also. Any closer, and your men would have soon found their heads swiftly parted from their bodies," he said, suspiciously eyeing the dark-haired stranger and his four silent counterparts standing at a close distance behind their suspected leader. 

"Again, my apologies," insisted the stranger as he bowed his head in earnesty. The mysterious elf's deep grey eyes slowly came to rest on the slouched over form of the blond elven prince sitting before him. "I fear we have much to explain..."

"Yes, you do," Aragorn agreed tightly as he came back around the side of Legolas' chair and stood so that he and Gimli flanked either side of Legolas, "And you can start with who you are and who those other men we saw in the gardens were."

"And why they were trying to kidnap Legolas," Gimli supplemented.

"Peace, please," begged the elf as he held his hands up in front of his chest as if in surrender, "I will answer your questions, but I can only do it one at a time." His plea seemed to have te desired effect. Aragorn and Gimli reluctantly relinquished their tirade of questions and quieted to wait for the elf to speak. Legolas groggily lifted his head from off his chest, eager to also hear the elf's long awaited answers to these troubling mysteries.

His audience now fixated onto his every word, the dark-haired elf began. "I believe I should begin with formal introductions. My name is Elendwë, as you may recall me telling you earlier." There came general nods of affirmation from his assembled group of listeners. 

"This is Larlossë," Elendwë then said, gesturing towards a tall elf standing off to his side. "He is a skilled warrior and my second in command." 

The elf in question was slender but of well defined build and muscle; his stature proud and tall. A flowing mane of wavy blond tresses cascaded down his back and over his shoulders. His hair was elaborately braided away from his face in a style Legolas had never seen before: two small braids – similar to Legolas' own – ran along the sides of the elf's head just above his ears before joining with the rest of Larlossë's brushed back forelocks in a highly complex braid that hung like a twisted coil of rope down the length of his back. A finely crafted hair ornament of silver fastened to the back of Larlossë skull held the completed coif in place while a simple metal clasp tied the entire thing off at the end. Larlossë's clear blue eyes stared back at Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli cooly, his gaze sharp and appraising as if he was silently measuring the three on scales in his mind. Gimli did not fail to note that the elf's cold gaze seemed to linger somewhat longer on him than what it did for his two friends, or think to imagine he saw something of a sneer beginning to pull at the corners of the strange elf's lips before he was abruptly looked away from. 

"Gelion," Elendwë said, motioning to the next elf in line who was of a chestnut brown hair coloring with a small nod of his head. "Another of great prowlness in battle, but one unsurpassed in skills of the bow." Legolas managed to catch the other elf's pale grey eyes for a brief moment of time, and despite himself, felt an instant connection form between himself and his fellow archer. 

"Aiwendel..." This next elf immediately struck the three as being the most striking of the group, for his hair was of a flaming red hue, a very rare and uncommon hair color among the elven folk of Middle-earth. But more startling than that was the stunning bottle-green color of his eyes. 

"And Nendhros," Elendwë concluded as he motioned to the last of his men; a dark-haired elf with deep set, blue-grey eyes that seemed to stare into the very souls of those he looked upon. 

As his name was given, each elf in turn nodded his head in acknowledgment to Legolas, Aragorn, and Gimli. Finished with his introductions, Elendwë turned back around to face the three, his fair features a stone chiseling of grave seriousness. His eyes met Legolas' and held them with a strange, unwavering power as if he could see into the younger elf's very mind. "You now wish to know who those men that attacked you earlier tonight were." 

"Yes," Legolas answered, his eyes burning with that and a hundred other questions as he returned the other elf's unbroken gaze. "What did they want with me? Why did they try and kidnap me?"

"The ones you saw us battling earlier tonight – the ones that tried to kidnap you – were members of a secret society of elves known as the Brotherhood. They are lead by an elf that goes by the name of Thalion. He and his men are enemies of the Valar that have come here to Middle-earth from across the sea to seek you out and prevent you from fulfilling an ancient prophecy that was foretold long before the First Age of Middle-earth."

"This is much of what you have already told us," Aragorn said, letting his impatience for answers clearly known by his tone of voice, "What is this prophecy you keep speaking of?"

Elendwë paused and looked at the man in grave solemnity, as if he were about to pass judgement of death onto a prisoner. "I speak of the prophecy that foretells of the end of the world – The Second Prophecy of Mandos, The Second Coming of Melkor..."

A heavy silence filled the room as the elf's voice trailed off and left nothing but the ringing doom of his words to fill the void. For the breadth of several long heartbeats, Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli stared at Elendwë in a silence, their faces blank from shock of any visible emotions. 

Finally, as if regaining his composure, Gimli forced a nervous chuckle. "Surely you jest," he laughed, his skepticism of the elf's ominous prediction evident. Though doubtful, the dwarf nevertheless seemed slightly unnerved by the strange elf's words of doom and looked to his friends for reassurance. 

Standing on the other side of Legolas, Aragorn seemed to harbor similar doubts. "That is a far-fetched story you wish us to believe," he agreed. 

Elendwë slowly turned his gaze onto the silent figure sitting between the man and dwarf. Unlike his friends, Legolas offered no such refusal of acceptance and sat quietly hunched forward in his seat, his eyes downcast and staring with rapt fixedness down at the floorboards. Elendwë slowly took a step closer to the elven prince. "You know that what I speak is true, Legolas Thranduilion," he observed softly in an eerily disconcerting way, "You can feel it. The world is changing. Melkor is preparing to break free from the Void and return to this world. You have felt his darkness growing in the back of your mind. You have felt the unease of his presence growing more and more everyday, like a cold chill on the back of your neck." 

They were not questions, but still Legolas felt compelled to answer. "Yes," he whispered softly in admission, "I have felt it now for several months; a strange growing of unease in my heart. At times it is so strong I can feel the very air around me tense as if in warning. But I knew not of what was causing it..." he trailed off. Legolas slowly raised his head and looked at the older elf, his sapphire blue eyes imploring more answers. Aragorn and Gimli both looked down at their friend, startled that he should actually understand what this elf was talking about. But Legolas hardly noticed their presence beside him anymore. All he could focus on was this strange elf that had come to him and seemed to hold answers to the dark feelings of unjustified fear that had been slowly growing in the pit of his heart. 

"You are not the only one to have felt Melkor presence growing," Elendwë said, "Many other elves here in Middle-earth have also felt it, though they also do not realize what it truly is. Many are leaving these shores, seeking safety from his darkness in the West. But there is no such haven. The end of the world is nearing. With the return of the Dark Vala, a wave of death and destruction unlike anything ever seen before will sweep over the entire span of Arda, even unto to edges of Aman in the West. Melkor has been slowly regaining power in the dark depths of the Void where he was imprisoned countless millennia ago, and will soon break free from its restraints and return to this world.'

"The Brotherhood," he continued, "is the last remaining remnants of an ancient cult of Melkor's followers that were seduced into his control by promises of riches and power. After the final battle with the other Valar that ultimately banished their master into the darkest reaches of the Void, they fell into hiding. Known members of the Brotherhood were hunted down and forced to renounce their allegiances to Melkor. Many did and repented for their sins against the Valar, but many also escaped. Where Melkor's influence should have died out long ago, it did not, and the Brotherhood has survived through the ages by secrecy and stealth. And now that the ancient prophecy is beginning to come in being, they are determined to see that it is not fulfilled as it was told and that their Dark Lord is freed and returned to power." 

"That may explain who they are, but you still have not told me why they wanted _me_," Legolas said in growing frustration, "Why did they want to kidnap me?"

"Patience, young one," the dark-haired elf calmed soothingly, "I will tell you, but you must first let me explain things so that you might better understand all that has happened and where you fit into all of this." Legolas looked about ready to protest, but reluctantly fell quiet again by the insistent look shining in Elendwë's ancient grey eyes. 

"The Prophecy also speaks of a defender of good – the Light of Manwë. During the ancient battle in which the Lords of the West and Melkor battled for control of Arda, there was an elf who fought on the side of the Valar. He was the most powerful being of his race, his power rivaling even that of the Maia – the lesser Valar. It was said that he was so powerful that his eyes would actually shine with the light of his spirit. Because of this, he was given the title Fëaglin which means in the high elven tongue of the Eldar 'shining spirit.' No story now remains that can recall his given birth-name, for all those that knew him only remember him in legend as Fëaglin.'

"Your stories of the Great Battle may not say, but the power and might of the Valar was almost defeated on that final day. For many days, the battle raged, neither side gaining the upper hand. For though the Valar and their allies were great in number, so were the forces of the Dark Lord. Orcs, goblins, balrogs, and dragons were only some of the creatures Melkor's employed in his services. But there were none more terrible than the black creatures he created himself in the dark dungeons of his fortress known as Deathscrys. They were horrible monsters; tall, gangly creatures bred only for the destruction of life. Their claws and talons were like scythes; able to cleave a fully armored man or elf in two with no more difficulty than a knife passing through butter. Their skin was thick and difficult to pierce with arrows, and only vulnerable to swords in close combat. But by then, swords were usually of no more use to their owners against a Deathscry in such close proximity...'

"Melkor released his army of monsters on the Valar and their allies of men and elves in unending hoards. The bloodshed was horrible. Many fell in battle fighting off Melkor's armies. Towards the end, almost all seemed lost. The might of the Valar was great but not strong enough to battle past Melkor's forces and penetrate his stronghold of Angband. Finally, just before the end, as his hoards of unclean monsters began their final assault against the Valar and their allies, Melkor himself emerged from his fortress, dressed in armor and ready to lay formal claim of victory over his enemies.'

"But as the Dark Lord emerged from his fortress-dungeon, there stepped forward one single warrior brave enough to face him. That one was Fëaglin. They fought each other, the light of Fëaglin set against the darkness of Melkor. It is said that during the final battle, as the two fought and strove for victory, the world around them dimmed and the day was cast into unnatural night. But it was not of Melkor's doing. Though the Dark Lord wore darkness like a cloak and spread it wherever he could, it was Fëaglin whose power dimmed the light of the world. For in battling the Evil One, it was said that he actually drew the light from all that around him and absorbed it into himself. The ancient stories say that he shined that day with the very light of the Two Trees of Valinor, like a radiant star fallen to earth, so powerful was his spirit.'

"Melkor was unable to withstand the power of such a pure spirit and was defeated but not utterly destroyed. Manwë then took him and shut the Dark Lord away in the Void for what was suppose to be all of eternity. But while Melkor survived that day, the light of Fëaglin's spirit was completely spent. In driving back Melkor's darkness, Fëaglin sacrificed all the inner light of his spirit to rid the world of Melkor's evil and ultimately died."

Elendwë finally paused for a moment in his recount of the ancient battle of good and evil and looked Legolas straight in the eyes, his gaze unwavering from the younger elf's. 

"The Prophecy of the Second Coming says that the One that defeated Melkor will return in the time of Dagor Dagorath and the coming of the End. That Fëaglin will return to this world and finish his battle with the Dark One once and for all. But wether Melkor or Fëaglin emerges as the ultimate victor, the Prophecy does not say."

"This is all an interesting history lesson, but what does it all have to do with me?!" Legolas cried, finally becoming so frustrated he could no longer hold back his impatience. "I want to know, right here, right now, why was this Brotherhood trying to kidnap me?" His eyes flashed threateningly in the low, flickering candlelight of the room as his sapphire stare bored into Elendwë, demanding answers. 

The room grew deathly silent. Even the snapping of burning wood in the fireplace on the far side of Aragorn's study seemed to die away and fall silent under the intense pall of tension now thickening the air. The elves behind Elendwë shifted uneasily in the silence. Aragorn and Gimli stared at Elendwë as if in a trance, completely captivated by the mystical ambiance of prophecies, ancient battles, and gods this strange elf from across the sea had conjured up around them like a heavy mist of mystery. 

Elendwë stood motionless, his pale grey eyes meeting Legolas'. He held Legolas' gaze undaunted, as if gauging the strength of the younger elf's inner resolve to finally know the answers. 

Finally, just as the room seemed ready to burst with the charged tension of its occupants, Elendwë spoke. "The reason the Brotherhood was trying to kidnap you," he said in a low, foreboding voice, as if he was afraid of being overheard by prying ears, "is because you, Legolas Thranduilion of Middle-earth, are the reincarnation of Fëaglin. You are the one the Prophecy speaks of. The only one that can defeat Melkor and prevent the end of the world. In you burns the fëa of the same elf that fought on the side of the Valar and vanquished Melkor almost ten thousand years ago. You are the rebirth of his spirit. You are the One..." 

For whatever silence that may have seemed so complete and unbroken before was nothing in comparison to the utter absence of sound that followed. 

Legolas sat silent and motionless in his seat, staring at the other elf in an almost comical expression of surprise and stunned speechlessness. But the grave seriousness in which Elendwë had made such a claim of personage, drove away any such mirth from the room. For whatever explanation Legolas had expected to receive, this was not it. Off to his sides, Aragorn and Gimli mimicked similar responses: wide-eyed and slack-jawed. 

For a moment, Legolas thought he had just become the butt of some cruel joke. But Elendwë's expression of utter seriousness did not waver. His face was a mask of heartfelt conviction. Nothing in the dark-haired elf's countenance belied the signs of any deceit or deception, only a sort of reverent respect and patience as he held the speechless prince's eyes as if in silent reassurance that what he said was true.

Sputtering for words to respond to such an outrageous claim, Legolas' lips moved soundlessly as his eyes darted around the room, frantically searching for anything that would prove that he had somehow misheard Elendwë. Finally, as if recovering from the initial shock, Legolas slowly regained his composure. "Uh..." he began, searching for words as the logical, more practical (and skeptical) side of his brain began to take control, "I think you may have made a mistake... There's no way I can be who you say I am – it's impossible," he said with the nervous sort of chuckle usually reserved for trying to hide unwanted emotions of unease or unsurity, "I'm sorry, but I'm not this Fëaglin, or whoever you say it is you're looking for."

"But you are," insisted Elendwë in his most patient voice, as if he were explaining a very simple concept to a small child. "The Oracle of Valimar prophesied that Fëaglin would return in the form of a galednel – a green elf – and that he would be born near the land in which he met his doom, but would not be found there when the time for the Second Coming was near. You were born in the northern realm of Middle-earth, were you not?" Elendwë asked, already certain of what Legolas' response would be. 

"Yes, but there are thousands of other elves who were born in and around Mirkwood and then moved to other lands," Legolas protested defensively, starting to feel as if he was somehow slowly being backed into a corner. He looked to his two friends for support, but Aragorn and Gimli seemed too bewildered themselves by Elendwë's explanation to offer the prince any such help. "I don't even have any special powers," he then pointed out, "I was trained as a warrior. I have no skills in magic or anything else that would give me powers such as the ones you speak of. There is nothing special about me..." Elendwe's expression of complete conviction did not falter. "I am no different than any other elf you would meet here in Middle-earth..." he said, moving his plea to the other's of the dark-haired elf's party, hoping to perhaps convince one of them he was not who they thought he was. "There are many other elves more powerful than I..." Still none seemed to show signs of any dissuaded conviction. "You've got the wrong elf!" he finally exclaimed, panic beginning to show in his eyes.

Elendwë smiled patiently. "No. You are not the wrong elf. You are the one we have been searching for. I know it; I have seen the fire in your eyes. You do not know of your powers because they are hidden deep within you, lying dormant until the proper time for them to resurface and spring forth to defeat the Dark Lord."

Legolas narrowed his eyes in stubborn skepticism. "I don't believe you," he said simply, "You have nothing to prove what you say is true except your word. Why should I believe you?"

If the extremely tall, dark-haired elf had taken offense to Legolas' slightly brusque words he did not show it. Elendwë studied Legolas calmly. "What of your reoccurring dreams as of late? Or your vision at the festival earlier today?"

Legolas immediately perked and sat straighter in his seat. "That was you?" he exclaimed incredulously, his brain quickly inferring and making immediate connections, "You were the ones I saw in the stands?"

"Yes," Elendwë said apologetically, "We had to be sure you were the one we were searching for." 

"Then it was you that made me faint and see that horrible vision," the elven prince deduced with a small stirring of anger in his voice. Elendwë tipped his head forward in affirmation. Beside Legolas, Aragorn and Gimli shifted slightly. Through much of the conversation thus far the man and dwarf had felt distinctly out of place and disoriented by all of what was being said. But at the mention of the friend's sudden fainting spell and collapse earlier that day at the tournament, they finally felt they could understand something of what was being explained. "What did you do to me?" Legolas then asked, his tone low and accusing.

"What you saw was less a vision than it was a memory," Elendwë said slowly, his voice calm and filled with age and knowledge of an ancient past, "... or perhaps a glimpse at what will become of the world should Melkor return to power," he added ominously in a low whisper. "In order to make sure you were truly the one we sought, my companions and I sang an ancient chant recalling the final battle between Melkor and Fëaglin. In doing so, we awakened in you long repressed memories of your past life..."

He paused, his pale grey eyes staring into the depths of Legolas' soul. "I know without a doubt that you, Legolas Thranduilion," he said softly, "are the One. I saw the spark in your eyes that told me so. And I know that deep down you believe me."

Breaking eye contact with the other elf, Legolas shakingly got to his feet. The blanket draped over his shoulders had begun to slip off on one side but was kept in place by one of Legolas' hands clasping the two sides of it together in the center of his chest like some haggard beggar. He did not look at Elendwë or anyone else as he slowly walked towards the nearby fireplace burning brightly on the other side of Aragorn's study and stood before it, staring deeply down into the dancing flames as if lost in a trance. 

"You have seen the devastation of Melkor's evil in your vision," Elendwë said softly to the elf's turned back, "And you have heard the screams of his victims in your ears. You know of what horrors Melkor will unleash on this world again if he is allowed to return to power..." Legolas relented nothing and merely continued to stare down into the flames, watching as the reds, oranges, and yellows of the fire danced and flickered before his eyes in an endless terpsichore of light and movement. 

Just like the flames in his dreams... always consuming... always destroying... 

He stood there, silhouetted against the dancing orange backdrop of flames for several long moments of silence, like a soul standing on the threshold of hell. 

"How did you know of my dreams?" he finally asked after a time in a hushed voice over the soft crackle of wood. He did not look back over his shoulder or turn around. 

"I honestly did not. But I assumed with the growing presence of Melkor in your mind that repressed memories would begin to resurface in the way of dreams." For a long while, Legolas said nothing and continued to stare into the dancing fire, watching as the flames slowly licked and ate at the thick logs burning in the pit of its fiery belly like some kind of sacrificial offering. Staring into the flames he suddenly felt tired. Like everything being told to him was physically weighing down on him.

"Why did you not just come to me?" he then asked into the flames, his voice distant and almost resigned. 

"We did not want to expose our presence to you before we were sure you were truly the One," Elendwë said, "And we could not risk letting the Brotherhood know we had found you." He paused and stared thoughtfully at the young elf's turned back. "But even if we had come to you, would you have believed us?" he asked softly, letting a hint of sarcasm taint his fair and mellifluously voice. 

Legolas gave no answer but clutched the blanket draped over his shoulders tighter around himself. "The Brotherhood now knows who you are," Elendwë's voice then said somewhere behind the elven prince, "They will now stop at nothing to see that you do not fulfill the Prophecy. If we had not stopped them earlier tonight, they probably would have killed you. My companions and I will protect you, but Thalion and his men will return and try to finish you. They cannot let you live to fulfill the Prophecy. That is why we must hurry and take you to the place where the ancient Prophecy foretold the Final Battle will take place."

"And where would that be?" Legolas questioned, his voice low and apprehensive. 

"To Mordor, where the Dark Lord's servant once resided and continued his master's work even long after he was sealed into the Void..."

  


******

TBC...

  


******

  


So... was that what anybody was expecting? 

I know I kind of took artistic liberties for my version the Final Battle between the Valar and Melkor, but Tolkien actually wrote very little about it in the Silmarillion so I felt there was a lot of room for interpretation. I know some people may be wondering why Elendwë and his men are now going to take Legolas to Mordor when by all accounts they should probably go to Angband in the north, but that will be explained in later chapters. 

Before I go, I just want to give kudos to my one reviewer Kit Cloudkicker for the awesome line: "You've got the wrong elf!" Ha ha! That was so funny when I read it that I knew I had to somehow fit that line into my story. 

Oh, and thanks to Gwyn for your wonderful encouragement and support. I hope I didn't keep you waiting too long for the update or disappoint you! 

'Till next time!

  


P.S. Can I please have a review? Please...? 

  
  
  
  



	7. So It is Decided

OMG! What's this? An update! 

Hey guys! Long time no see! You didn't think I was actually going to abandon this story didja? You did?! Aw, I'm sorry. I know it's been... awhile(!) needless to say, but I'm finally back! Hope I didn't leave anyone hanging. Before I let you go to read, I just want to give a big shout out to all my readers who read and reviewed the last chapter. Your encouragement is what keeps me warm and cozy through these long winter nights! Enjoy the new chapter!

Disclaimer: Lord of the Rings and all associated characters are not mine and belong to JRR Tolkien, nor are they being used for profit in the telling of this story. 

******

A pale touch of pink was just beginning to warm the far eastern corner of the sky as the first hint of morning sunlight began to spill out over the horizon and onto the sleeping land. Standing by himself near the railing of his bedroom balcony, Legolas Greenleaf watched in a detached sort of trance the sun's golden head slowly creep up over the horizon, warming the sky with its light. As he watched in reflective silence, the inky black darkness of the nighttime sky slowly began to fade like a watercolor painting into a deep royal blue, then to purple which in turn bled into a rosy colored orange, and finally yellow. As the eastern sky continued to brighten with the cresting dawn, the stars still shining in the dim morning light slowly began to fade and then finally disappear from view.

Legolas heaved a weary sigh, suddenly feeling empty and alone at the loss of the stars overhead. He felt somehow connected to them, as if their pale, silver light somehow represented everything he once knew himself to be. But no longer. Now it was like with their disappearance from the heavens also faded his innocence and everything that had once made him who he was. He felt scared and alone, a stranger to himself. Now more than ever in the last few months of unnameable fear and anxiety, he felt lost, unable to understand what was happening to him or what he was now suppose to do.

Legolas gave another shaking sigh and slowly leaned down over the railing of the balcony. Everything felt different, as if he was somehow living the life of another person or trapped in some dream he couldn't wake up from. And he wanted to wake up. Oh gods, did he just want to wake up from this nightmare and go back to his old life before any of this ever happened! But he couldn't. Because he knew this was no dream, and that the band of mysterious elves that had rescued him the night before from his would-be kidnapers had not lied to him. And what they had said was not something he could honestly deny or ignore. 

Legolas hung his head tiredly. He could all the stress, fear, and anxiety of the previous day weighing down on him. Exhaustion like he had never experienced before clawed at his mind and body, pulling him down like a heavy weight tethered to his soul. He felt so tired. So lost. All he wanted to do was sleep and escape this nightmarish reality, to somehow delay the inevitable of accepting who he really was and what he now needed to do. He just wanted to sleep, to rest his weary body and escape this horrible nightmare at least for awhile. But he couldn't. There were just too many thoughts and questions swirling around in his head to find such peace for his troubled mind.

  


How was he – he of all the elves in Middle-earth! – suppose to be this great savior of Arda these elves from across the sea were searching for? He was Legolas Greenleaf of Mirkwood, youngest and thus least important son of King Thranduil. He was a simple warrior, not some great and powerful elf lord from ancient legend that supposedly helped the Gods of the West defeat the dark lord Melkor and seal him away in the Void. How could he possibly be this FËaglin they searched for? How could he possibly be the one these mysterious elves from Valinor placed the entire fate of Middle-earth on?

He wished Gandalf or Elrond were there. They would know what to do. They were two of the wisest beings to ever walk Middle-earth, save for perhaps the Lady Galadriel who truly had no equal. But Legolas had to remind himself that none of them were there to help him. All three had sailed away in a silver ship bound for the Undying Lands almost two years before. None of them could help him now. It seemed he was to face this mystery alone. 

Legolas almost wanted to cry out of stress and confusion. _Some great Savior of Arda you are..._ he couldn't help but mentally remark. _You're suppose to stop the end of the world from happening, and here you are about to burst into tears like some child not old enough to leave his mother's side..._

Thinking this somehow only made Legolas want to cry more. He was so tired. He just wanted to sleep. Why did this have to happen to him?

Closing his eyes to collect himself, the elven prince folded his arms up over each other on the balcony railing and leaned forward so that his forehead rested on his forearm. Gods, he was so tired... Ever since he started having those dark and disturbing dreams almost two months before he had not had a proper night's rest. And now after his attempted kidnaping by a band of unknown elves apparently trying to kill him and keep him from fulfilling some ancient prophecy he still wasn't even sure pertained to him, Legolas could feel all those sleepless nights finally catching up with him.

If he could just get some sleep then everything wouldn't look so dark and mysterious, and he would be able to figure things out with a clear head.

"Legolas?"

Suddenly startled out of his thoughts by the soft calling of his name, the elven prince bolted upright and wheeled around in surprise. Legolas was greatly taken aback and frightened by how he had not heard anyone approaching from behind, and immediately chastised himself for being so inattentive to his surroundings. His hands automatically flew down to grab for one of his long knives to defend himself with from whatever unknown attacker had managed to sneak up on him. He was dismayed however to find his knives were not there; he had left them sitting on the end of his bed back inside his room.

Fortunately though, Legolas did not need them as he quickly spun around on his heels and found himself not staring at some unknown attacker, but rather Aragorn and Gimli standing in the doorway of his room that led out onto the balcony. The man and dwarf instantly froze on the threshold, startled by elf's uncharacteristic jumpiness. For several long heartbeats of silence Legolas stood perfectly still, staring back at them with his eyes wide and shining with unmistakable fear. Aragorn and Gimli could feel the tension radiating off the elf's body in almost palpable waves. Every muscle in the elf's lithe body seemed tense and strung tight like a bow string right before release. 

Aragorn seemed the first to recover his voice from his initial shock of his friend's reaction to them. "I'm sorry, Legolas. We didn't mean to startle you," he said, holding his hands up in front of his chest as a sign of peace to the clearly startled elf, "We just wanted to make sure you were alright."

Recognition finally seemed to spark in the archer's eyes. Releasing a low, shaking breath he hadn't even been aware he had been holding, Legolas' whole being suddenly seemed to droop, as if the release of tension from his body had somehow drained away the last of the elf's strength. His shoulders sagged forward and eyes seemed to dim with returning exhaustion. "It's alright," he said in a distinctly weary voice as he unconsciously reached out a shaking hand to steady himself with on the balcony railing, "I just did not hear anyone coming..."

Gimli might have stored away this bit of information to use at a later date in one of his verbal sparring matches with the elf, but the heavy pall of the circumstances surrounding his friend's sudden inattentiveness chased away any such thoughts from his mind. Aragorn and Gimli exchanged concerned glances with one another, both thinking the same thing. Never before had they known Legolas to be able to be snuck up on and startled like that by any living creature – including by fellow elves. And for Legolas to actually admit his slip of alertness only made them all the more concerned.

"Legolas, are you alright?" Aragorn asked worriedly as he strode forward and came to a stop in front of his friend.

Legolas blankly stared at Aragorn for a long minute of silence, as if just pondering this question himself for the first time. "I– I don't know..." he finally answered after a time, shaking his head slowly. His voice was like that of a child wandering alone in the woods: lost and frightened. Legolas slowly brought a shaking hand to the side of his face. "I just don't know what I am anymore," he moaned, dragging a hand through his disheveled blonde hair fretfully.

"Easy there, lad," Gimli admonished lightly, coming up to stand beside his friend also, "There's no need for you to get all worked up like this."

But this did not seem to calm the distraught elf down at all. "Yes there is!" Legolas cried loudly, beginning to agitatedly pace along the balcony, "I have every right to get worked up over this. Not only have I been plagued by dark, reoccurring dreams for the last several months and felt some unknown darkness growing in my heart, but now these elves from across the sea come saying I'm the reincarnation of some ancient warrior that supposedly defeated the dark lord Melkor, and that it's my responsibility to stop the end of the world! How am I suppose to react to something like that? What am I suppose to think?"

"Legolas. Legolas, just calm down," Aragorn ordered, striding forward and taking hold of the restless elf by the shoulders and wheeling him around so that he stared back into the man's face, "Just calm down and breathe. I know how confused and alone you must feel right now but getting upset like this isn't going to help us figure this out at all. Now just calm down. Gimli and I are going to help you through this, but you have to calm down first."

This seemed to finally earn a response from the emotionally distraught elf. Legolas slowly raised his downcast eyes and looked up into Aragorn's, trying to gauge the sincerity of his friend's offered support. But he could find no sign of deception or false promises in the man's steel grey depths, only the honest desire to help his friend. Slowly lowering his gaze again in shame for his unjustified outburst, Legolas gave a wan smile, humbled by his friend's sincerity. "Thank you," the elven prince said softly in a calmer tone.

Nodding in satisfaction that he had finally talked some sense back into his friend, Aragorn slowly released Legolas' shoulders and stepped back. His eyes unconsciously began to scan Legolas' body, taking in the elf's stooped shoulders and the way he wearily hung his head. "Did you get any sleep last night?" he asked, already knowing the answer by the dark circles ringing the elf's pale blue eyes.

"No," Legolas replied, confirming Aragorn's suspicions, "I tried, but I couldn't. I couldn't stop thinking about what ElendwË said last night..."

Aragorn nodded in understanding. Last night's revelations had left all of them asking many questions, and no one more than Legolas himself. He had seen the way the elf had seemed to progressively draw into himself as the night progressed and Elendwë explained what now needed to be done now that he and his men had finally found Legolas. Afterwards, Legolas had promptly retreated to his rooms and once again shut himself away from the outside world. Aragorn and Gimli had wanted to follow him to make sure he was alright, but it was obvious that Legolas had wanted time alone to think. And so they had honored the elf's need for privacy. But now that Aragorn actually saw his friend on the morning of the day after and saw the frazzled state of unrest of the elven prince's mind, he was beginning to wonder if leaving Legolas alone to stew in his own thoughts for the entire night without checking in on him earlier had really been such a good idea.

"Do you think what those elves are saying is true?" Gimli asked, abruptly pulling Aragorn's wandering mind back to the present as the dwarf turned to address his elven companion, "I mean, do you really believe you are who they say you are?" he questioned with barely concealed skepticism. Even after everything he had seen and heard the night before, the stout little warrior was still having trouble believing everything their mysterious guests were saying.

Legolas slowly shook his head. "I don't know," he admitted in a tired voice as though he had asked himself this question a million times over and still could not come to a conclusion, "I mean, I do not know if I truly am this Fëaglin they are searching for or not, but I know what else they say is true. There is some evil darkness rising. I can feel it in the air and hear the whisper of its approach in trees. I have felt it now for several months, even though I have not known what it truly was until now. What they say will happen is no lie. I can feel Melkor's presence growing more and more every day in the back of mind. He will soon break free from the Void and return to Arda. I can feel it. Even though I do not know if I am the one they search for, I feel I must somehow help them. There is a great evil stirring in the land that will soon erupt and spill its darkness out over all the free lands of Middle-earth unless it is somehow stopped."

"Are you saying you're actually going to listen to this strange elf and go with him and his men to Mordor to try and stop this dark lord from returning?" Gimli exclaimed, "You just said you didn't even believe you're this Fëa...whoever it is they're looking for! Why are you getting yourself involved in this if it has nothing to do with you?"

"Gimli..." Legolas sighed wearily as he closed his eyes and brought a hand up to his temple as if trying to fight the onset of an impending headache, "I have to do this. I know what will happen if I do not help them. I have seen it in my dreams... Please, you must understand, I have to help them. There is some great evil brewing here that we still do not fully see or understand. Those men that tried to kidnap me last night would not have taken such a chance as attacking me so close to the Citadel if they did not believe that I – or the one they're actually searching for– was worth such a risk."

"Then shouldn't that tell you it's not safe for you to travel into the wilderness – let alone Mordor of all places!– with a group of strangers when some deranged cult of elves is out there trying to kill you?" Gimli exclaimed in utter disbelief of the elf's almost suicidal decision. 

"Gimli, please..." Legolas begged tiredly, looking down into his friend's dark brown eyes, "I am not asking you to come with me. I only want you to understand that I must do this. There are forces at work here that are bigger than you, I, or anything else. The elves that saved me last night are from the Undying Lands in the West. My kindred would not have come here to Middle-earth if there wasn't some great evil stirring whose darkness could eventually spread to even the shores of Valinor. I must help them."

"But, Legolas, if you do not believe yourself to be the one these elves are searching for, what help do you hope to offer them in stopping Melkor from escaping the Void?" Aragorn questioned, joining Gimli in his fight to somehow dissuade the elf.

Legolas seemed to have already considered this himself though. "Aragorn," he sighed, as though the effort of trying to explain his reasoning for undertaking such a mission was steadily draining him of his last remaining strength, "I do not know what I have to offer them, but I know I must go. I can feel it, this pull deep inside me that tells me I must go with them."

"But can you trust them?" the man argued desperately, "We do not know these elves. We do not know what their true intentions may be. They believe you are this Fëaglin. And so do those other elves that tried to kidnap you last night. Can you trust Elendwë and his men to be there to protect you if this Brotherhood tries to attack you again?"

"I do not need to be protected!" Legolas spat, his eyes suddenly flaring to life with ire and wounded pride, "I can take care of myself!"

"Well you sure seemed to be doing a fine job of that last night..." Gimli grunted under his breath, sarcasm dripping off every word. 

Legolas' eyes flashed again. "I do not need yours or anyone else's help. I do not expect you to understand this evil I have felt growing in my heart now for the last three months, or to understand why I must do this, but I had thought that I might have at least had your confidence and support in my decision. I do not need your protection. I have faced this thing on my own thus far and do not need your help now."

"Legolas, we do not want to make you feel that you have to face this alone," Aragorn said, taking a step closer to the elven prince, "We want to help you."

"You cannot help me," Legolas retorted bitterly, "You cannot feel this darkness growing in my heart or hear the screams that haunt my dreams. You have no way of understanding why I must go with them."

"Maybe not," Gimli relented with a solemn nod of his head, "Maybe we can't feel this "growing darkness" you elves keep sputtering on about, but that doesn't mean we can't tell something is wrong. We're not going to let you face whatever is causing you so much trouble by yourself. We're coming with you. I'm not just going to stand here and let you go off on some crazy mission so you get yourself killed by a bunch of fanatical elves. You're always getting yourself into trouble, elf, so it looks like once again the dwarf has to step in and keep an eye on you while you and your new friends go off gallivanting through Mordor doing AulË knows what."

Gimli's words came off brusque and clipped, as though the dwarf was annoyed with Legolas for having gotten him involved in the whole mess. But Aragorn and Legolas immediately saw through the dwarf's act. The look of unwavering dedication and concern shining in the dwarf's dark brown eyes immediately gave him away. 

Standing there looking down into his friend's dark brown eyes, Legolas suddenly felt all his fear and self-doubt begin to melt away, as if Gimli's promise of accompanying him into the wastelands of Mordor to fulfill this mission and save the world was somehow leeching away all the fear and anxiety that poisoned his troubled mind. The elven prince ventured a timid smile. "I thank you, Gimli," he said softly, "I would be honored if you accompanied me on this quest. The heart and axe of a dwarf have still yet to disappoint me."

Gimli smiled broadly at this, happy to finally see some remnant of the elf he befriended all those years ago finally shining through again. For so long now Legolas had seemed like a different person. A stranger hiding behind the face of the elf he once knew. Though he was not about to admit it to anyone – least of all his two closest friends standing there in front of him– he probably would have followed Legolas to the very ends of Middle-earth if that was where the elf's crazy mission so led him. 

Aragorn nodded thoughtfully to this exchange between the elf and dwarf. At least Legolas had accepted their offer of accompanying him on this quest. For a while there, he had worried Legolas would have shunned any offered support they may have tried to give him. But while the man was relieved the elven prince had not refused their help in this mysterious quest they still did not quite fully understand, doubt and worry still plagued the king's mind. There were still some things he was not so sure about and questions that still needed answered. "But can we trust Elendwe and his men?" he asked, once again reminding his two friends of the seriousness of the situation and Legolas' decision to join this mysterious group of elves from Valinor. "Legolas, what does your heart tell you?" he asked softly, staring into the elf's fathomless blue eyes. 

Legolas seemed to revert into himself for a long moment of thoughtful silence, his eyes becoming dark and troubled as he pondered this question. He slowly turned to look back over the balcony. The sun had already begun its ascent up into the pale morning sky. Warm, golden sunlight now washed out over the land and slowly waking city of Minas Tirith, banishing the last of the night's lingering shadows from the land. 

Quietly looking out over the land towards the rising sun, Legolas pondered this question. He had asked it himself many times over throughout the course of the night. Something felt right about saying yes to Aragorn's question. After all, if it hadn't been for Elendwë and his men the night before, he probably would have been kidnaped or killed by his attackers before anyone else could have helped him. They had saved him, and for that Legolas felt somehow indebted to these mysterious elves. 

But there was something else that made Legolas hesitate at giving Aragorn such an answer. Something he couldn't quite put his finger on but made him feel vaguely uneasy and wary of his mysterious saviors. Though Elendwë had seemed very honest and truthful in his revelations to Legolas the night before, the elven prince couldn't help but feel that he wasn't being told everything. That some bit of information was still being held back. But he had nothing to base his suspicions or unjustified uneasiness on. And although he felt there was still something to all of this he did not understand, he felt he should trust his rescuers. He could only attribute his uneasiness towards ElendwË because of the strange and frightening sequence of events surrounding his first meeting with the tall, dark-haired elf from across the sea.

"They did save my life..." Legolas murmured softly, finally breaking himself out of his thoughts, "I can find no reason not to trust in them."

"Are you sure of that, lad?" Gimli insisted, "If Faramir hadn't shown up when he did with those guards last night, those elves probably would have attacked us."

"It was dark," Legolas replied, "Elendwë even said they couldn't tell who was by me and thought that you and Aragorn may have been more attackers trying to kidnap me. They were trying to protect me and were caught in the heat of battle. They couldn't take the time to wait and see who it actually was." Even before he finished speaking, Legolas was slightly surprised by how quick he had been to jump to Elendwë's defense. 

Gimli meanwhile still looked skeptical, but seemed to decide not to press his point anymore for the time being. 

"I trust your judgement, Legolas," Aragorn said with a small nod of his head. Over his many years of acquaintance with the Mirkwood prince, Aragorn had found Legolas to be an excellent judge of character, able to perceive things in a person's soul that no one else could. Perhaps it was Legolas' elven perception that allowed him to discern such things, but Aragorn had never known Legolas to be genuinely wrong about a person. And for that, he was willing to place his trust in Legolas' judgement of the mysterious band of elves.

Legolas meekly nodded his head in reply and looked back out over the balcony towards the distant horizon where the sun was slowly beginning its arch up into the sky. Although Legolas took heart in his friend's admitted trust in him, lingering doubt still troubled his already worried mind. A long and dangerous path now lay before him, wrought with mystery and shadow. One that would lead him into the very heart of darkness and ultimately decide the fate of the world. One that he knew he could not escape from. 

_For all out sakes, Aragorn, let us hope I am right in putting our trust in these elves... For I fear what might happen if I am wrong..._

******

To Be Continued...

******

Like it? Hate it? Any constructive criticism is welcomed and always appreciated. 

So it looks like Legolas and the boys are off to Mordor now. But is their journey there going to be as easy as they may think? Well, whenever I'm at the keyboard it usually isn't, so be prepared for lots of fun stuff along the way! He he he *laughing evilly* Anyway, we'll also get to know more about ElendwË and the other elves, and find out some more about why they actually plan to do in Mordor to stop Melkor's return. And don't forget about those other pesky elves that tried to kidnap Legolas! They're just biding their time to make a reappearance... 

'Till then!


	8. To Mordor

Oh. My. God.

What is this... Can it be? Is it really? Gasp! It _is_!! It's an update!!! And for "They Came" ta boot! Geez! The whole world must be coming to an end or something!

Sorry for the major hiatus, but I have been trying real hard to get an update out! It's just that sometimes it feels like the whole universe is trying to keep me from writing. Sorry for taking so long to finally get an update up for "They Came" in who knows how long. I will seriously be trying to devote more of my spare time to writing. I swear! (Famous last words...)

Anyway, enjoy the long awaited continuation of the ongoing saga! Enjoy!

Disclaimer: Lord of the Rings and all associated characters are not mine and belong to JRR Tolkien, nor are they being used for profit in the telling of this story.

xxxxxx

Late afternoon sunlight spilled out over the land, casting long dark shadows across the ground as the sun continued its descent towards the distant horizon in the west. Tall, dark mountains reared up in the distance above a sea of trees that seemed to lap and flow around their bases like water at the shores of a rocky beach. Though otherwise dark and ominous, the mountains' western sides seemed painted a brilliant gold with the last few rays of Anor's setting light. A gentle breeze shifted the heavy summer air that hung over the land, occasionally rustling through the leaves of the trees of the surrounding forest that stretched out all around the medium sized group of riders that slowly traveled past beneath their leafy boughs.

The group moved in relative quiet, the plodding footfalls of their horses and soft murmur of subdued conversation the only sounds to break the quiet stillness of the surrounding forest. Shining brightly in the late afternoon sunlight from out amongst the ranks of half a dozen or more riders gleamed the surface of finely polished armor, their chest plates proudly bearing the stylized image of the White Tree of Gondor. As members of the elite White Guard, the knights rode silently behind their lord, King Elessar of Gondor, and his strange new group of traveling companions.

Many of the knights were already used to the presence of the king's two friends – an unlikely pair which still on occasion were known to earn inquisitive stares from those that did not know the details of their odd friendship well – an elf and dwarf, the renowned Legolas Thranduilion and Gimli son of Gloin who had accompanied Elessar on his quest to destroy the One Ring of Power almost six years before during the War of the Ring. The elven prince rode astride a great white war horse, a beast of undeniable linage from the great equine bloodlines of Rohan. He seemed to be in need of no bit or tackle as the men he accompanied did. For with but a single gentle touch or softly spoken word, the horse would heed his elven master's command and immediately move to obey. Riding pillion behind the elven prince also rode his dwarven companion Gimli, clutching the back of the elf's tunic with one hand so as to make sure he wouldn't somehow accidentally slide off the moving animals back as the two trotted along together.

But while the presence and otherwise odd sight of the king's two closest friends riding together was now a familiar thing to the group of guards that accompanied them, there was an unspoken unease among the men. For the elven prince and dwarf were not the only ones that accompanied their king into the wild for unknown reasons which they as only White Guards in their king's service had no right to question or demand.

Five other elves also rode with the small band of riders. Two at the front of their small company in front of the king and the other three behind him, flanking either side of the king's two friends as if acting as personal bodyguards to the warrior prince and dwarf.

Though elves were no longer a rare sight to the people Gondor since King Elessar's marriage to the Lady Arwen and the bringing of elves to southern Ithilien, the ones that accompanied the king and his two friends were almost immediately held by the men with reserve and uncertain scrutiny. There was something different about these elves. Something deep and mysterious that set them slightly apart from the warrior prince and the Lady Arwen, or any other elf they had ever come to meet or know.

They rode along silently on borrowed horses from the king's stables, all dressed in long, flowing cloaks of dark grey. To any they appeared just like any other elf one might happen to meet in Middle-earth: tall, beautiful beings gifted with eternal youth and unflawed grace, their eyes shining with the untold wisdom of their many long years. But there was something else hidden beneath these elves' calm, mysterious facades that the men could not quite name or describe and made them revere them with an extra certain amount of respect and caution.

A mysterious, disconcerting air seemed to surround them, as if they were from another world set totally apart from the one in which they now roamed. One that whispered of dark and ancient things that the minds of mortal men would never know or hope to understand.

But while King Elessar's personal escort of guards felt a certain, unexplainable wariness towards these strange, immortal beings of mystery and beauty, there was nothing with which to justify these unwarranted feelings of apprehension and suspicion on. So they spoke nothing of it, and only dutifully followed their lord deeper into the wilds, prepared to protect and defend him from any and all unknown dangers that might arise in the course of their mysterious quest.

Aragorn glanced over his shoulder towards the ranks of White Guards following in orderly rank at the rear of their small traveling party. Swivelling back around in his saddle, he heaved a heavy sigh under his breath. He hadn't wanted to bring an escort of guards with him on this quest. Even if it was for his own protection. He didn't want to get anyone else involved in this sudden chaotic whirlwind of ancient prophecies, returning Dark Lords, or reincarnated saviors that had so suddenly turned his, Legolas', Gimli's, and unknowingly possibly everyone else in Arda's life upside down barely even a day before. But there had been no other way for him to leave the white city of Minas Tirith without taking a small troop of guards with him.

He had left his Steward, Faramir, in charge of matters before he had set out earlier that morning with Legolas, Gimli and his strange new host of traveling companions on their dangerous quest to stop the return of the Dark Lord Melkor. But even that had not been enough to stop many of his advisors from protesting to the king's decision to suddenly get up and leave Minas Tirith to go out into the wilds with no explanation to them as to where he planned to go or what he planned to do..

As king of Gondor with yet no male heirs to take his up throne should something unexpected happen to him, Aragorn had found himself almost obligated to at least take with him an escort of guards. Many of his advisors had even suggested that he should not be allowed to go at all by the statute of the laws that were in place, such being the possibility of Gondor once again being ruled by an empty throne and a residing Steward ruling in the king's place. But in the end, who could argue with the king?

So Aragorn left.

The man again glanced back over his shoulder towards him men. He really hadn't wanted to bring them with him. It was enough that he and Gimli had offered to accompany Legolas on this dangerous quest the elven prince had felt compelled to go on with these strange elves from across the sea without involving the lives of any other innocent people. For he remembered well where Elendwë said they would have to go and what they would have to do to stop the Coming of the End...

"We must travel to Mordor," Elendwë had said the night he and his band of men had saved Legolas from being kidnaped by members of an ancient elven cult of Melkor's followers known as the Brotherhood, "That is where the Final Battle between Melkor and Fëaglin is prophesied to take place. When the Dark Lord was defeated by Fëaglin in the first Great Battle and shut away in the Great Void, his servant Sauron was meant to somehow find a way to return his Lord to Arda.

"This Sauron at first did. But as he grew in strength and influence and desired more and more power and control for himself, he began to realize he did not want to return his master to the world and once again become the servant, and so abandoned his quest to free Melkor from the Void. But although he did not fulfill his master's last command to somehow restore him back to the world, Sauron did not destroy the means by which he had found he could do such a thing.

"Deep beneath the base of Sauron's fortress-tower of Barad-dûr he built an endless maze of tunnels, chambers, and dungeons. It was there in those dark underground places he created his armies of demons, Orcs, and goblins, and tortured and killed those that stood against him. But it was also there he built a secret gateway through which his master might pass through to return to this world.

"It is this gateway that we must destroy. For if we do not, Melkor will find a way to open it and escape the Void. Everyday his power grows stronger and the bonds holding him to the darkness grow weaker. It will not be long before he finally breaks through the portal his servant Sauron left behind and return to this world."

"But Barad-dûr was destroyed with the defeat of Sauron and the destruction of the One Ring," Legolas had pointed out that night, "How could this gateway have survived the tower's collapse?"

"It did, young one," Elendwë assured him gravely, "Otherwise you would not be able to feel the Dark Lord's power slowly growing, and there would be no way for Melkor to escape his prison of darkness to return to this world here with. Sauron built Barad- dûr's underground labyrinth of tunnels and dungeon long and deep, like the roots of a giant Mallorn tree. The gateway survived. And this is what the Brotherhood is trying to keep us from destroying. It is how they plan to restore their Lord to this world. And what you, Fëaglin, must see that they do not accomplish..."

Aragorn shook his head, breaking himself out of his thoughts. Even now, the memory of that night's revelations made Aragorn feel as if his head was wreathed in a thick cloud of ancient magic. Glancing back over his shoulder again, the man stared at the one whom these mysterious elves they traveled towards the dark lands of Mordor with called Fëaglin. The one who was said to be the reincarnated spirit of the One that had defeated Melkor in the final battle between the Dark Vala and the Lords of the West over six millennia ago, and who was now suppose to save all of Middle-earth from the Dark Lord's return. The one who had traveled in the company of the Fellowship during the War of the Ring six years before, and the one who Aragorn had known and held as one of his closest friends now for many a long years...

"Tell me. Is it true what Elendwë said last night – that you are an archer?" Legolas tentatively spoke up and asked as he glanced over to his right at one of the elves riding beside him and protectively ensconcing him and Gimli within their ranks. Though he was not one known to make idle small talk, Legolas felt he needed to somehow break the slightly unnerving silence he and the rest of his company had been traveling in since first leaving Minas Tirith earlier that morning.

The elf in question that Legolas spoke to was of a beautiful, dark, chestnut brown hair coloring that shined subdued reddish highlights in the waning evening light. His eyes were like two deep, reflective pools of liquid grey. Gelion, Legolas thought he remembered the elf's name to be from his earlier introductions to Elendwë and the rest of his company the night before when he had been rescued from his attempted kidnappers.

The elf slowly turned his head towards Legolas and gave him a gentle smile. "Yes. I have some skill with the bow. But nothing of any great talent to boast about," he replied, his words flowing in a rich, golden string of syllables all heavily accented with the beautiful prosody of ancient Quenya.

"Surely Elendwë would not have mentioned your skills if they were not of some great talent and advantage to have you with him," Legolas said.

"They have been proven worthy for this great mission we have been entrusted with, but I do not assume to speak haughtily of them," Gelion once again humbly replied.

Legolas felt himself begin to regard his mysterious fellow archer with a growing sense of admiration and respect at this. If there was one thing Legolas hated was a person that boasted ostentatiously about his own personal skills. "Perhaps then you would be willing to demonstrate your archery skills for me sometime soon. For I am eager to see what mastery of the bow your leader has brought with him across the sea."

Gelion nodded his head solemnly to Legolas at this, some unreadable emotion now shining in his ancient grey eyes. "Do not worry..." he said softly, holding Legolas' eyes gravely with his own as if imparting some deadly secret to the woodland prince, "For I fear before our quest is done, you will see my skills put to the test first hand. And much sooner than you may think..."

Legolas stared at the other dark haired elf for several seconds as if trying to decide what Gelion might have meant by such a cryptic message. But he was quickly forced to turn his attention to other matters as he felt his dwarven riding companion agitatedly shift behind him and grumble something inaudible under his breath for what felt like the hundredth time in the last five minutes.

"Gimli, what is wrong with you?" Legolas demanded, half turning in his seat to look back at his friend out of the corner of his eye, "You have been acting like you have been riding with a burr under your saddle ever since we left Minas Tirith. Whatever is the matter?"

"Nothing," the dwarf grumbled hotly under his breath, not looking up to meet his friend's concerned gaze. Legolas however did not appear convinced by his friend's answer and only continued to expectantly stare at the dwarf out of the corner of his eyes until finally the stout little warrior gave an exasperated sigh of resignation and elaborated saying: "That blasted elf won't stop staring at me."

Legolas followed Gimli's irritated gaze up past Aragorn towards the head of the group where Elendwë and his second in command, Larlossë, rode side by side leading the column of riders deeper into the north-eastern wilds of Gondor towards their ultimate destination of Mordor. As the elven prince turned to look, he managed to catch Larlossë looking back over his shoulder in his and Gimli's direction before then swiftly turning back around in his seat to stare ahead again, his long, golden hair lashing the air sharply as he did so. Legolas did not fail to note the look of clear disdain shining in the other elf's eyes before he turned away, or the contemptuous snarl pulling at the corner of his lips.

A low growl rumbled somewhere deep inside the dwarf's throat.

Legolas had to stifle the burst of laughter that threatened to explode from his lips at the sight of the silent exchange.

"What's so funny, elf?" Gimli demanded, glaring up at the back of his best friend's head, "He's been doing that ever since we left Minas Tirith. If he doesn't stop giving me those nasty little looks soon, I swear I'm gonna–"

"Ai, Gimli!" Legolas begged, quickly cutting off the dwarf's tirade, his voice suspiciously wavery as if he were struggling to keep his composure. But try as he might, the elven prince was unable to contain his laughter any longer as he gave a quick look back over his shoulder and saw the disgruntled look pulled across his friend's face. "I am sorry, my friend," he finally managed to get out after a moment, "It is just that I cannot help but notice how much you and our new companion here are acting much like the way you and I did when we first set out together from Rivendell as members of the Fellowship."

"What are you talking about, elf? We never traded such evil looks with one another," Gimli grunted.

"Are you sure?" Legolas quired, "When we first set out together I remember us doing little else but trade evil looks with one another until we finally decided to become friends in Lothlorien."

Gimli quieted for a moment and seemed to reflect back on his and Legolas' infamous first month together as an elf and dwarf suddenly forced to work and travel together as members of the Fellowship of the Ring. Needless to say, their first few weeks had been filled with racial slurs, prejudice remarks, biting cynicism, stinging comments, evil looks, and even one or two incidences of all out verbal warfare that had bordered just along the lines of breaking out into physical combat before Aragorn or one of the others had intervened. It had been a miracle they had survived each other, let alone come to actually accept each other's differences and look past their races' prejudices to eventually form one of the strongest bonds of friendship anyone had ever seen before in Middle-earth.

"Emm... I suppose you're right..." the dwarf finally gave a reluctant grunt of agreement, "It wasn't easy putting up with you those first few weeks – you and your strange elven ways. It's still sometimes a wonder to me how I managed to put up with you all these years."

"The same way I learned to put up with you and your strange dwarven ways," Legolas retorted with a smile, easily falling into their familiar pattern of banter and light-hearted insults. "Do not worry, Master Dwarf, for I am sure it is only because of whatever ignorant, misguided prejudices my kindred from across the sea might hold for the stouter race of Dwarves that make Larlosse act the way he does towards you. I am sure in all due time Larlossë will come to appreciate your idiosyncrasies just like I did all those years ago, and come to see you as a valuable friend and ally."

Legolas felt more than saw or heard Gimli give a small, contemplative nod of agreement at this before then leaning out a little to the side to see around Legolas and gaze up towards the mysterious blonde haired elf riding at the head of the group beside his dark haired companion. Legolas paused for a moment as Gimli did this before then playfully remarked to his riding companion, "Perhaps though if you chose not to aggravate Larlossë by returning his icy stares with some of your own, you might be able to hasten a friendly working relationship between you two much faster than what you and I first did..."

Gimli snorted. "And you expect me to do this when my mere presence here aggravates him... He clearly doesn't like me," he noted acidly.

Legolas chuckled softly to himself under his breath. "Ah, my friend, your presence sometimes manages to aggravate even me, so do not let that minor fact discourage you from making peace with our new friend here. He will probably even prove to be the one that makes sure you return to Minas Tirith in one piece. So it would probably be to your best advantage not to upset the one that might end up eventually saving your life before this mission is done."

Legolas waited for a moment expecting to hear some kind of defensive retort at this from Gimli about a dwarf's ability to take care of himself and not needing to rely on the protection of anyone else – especially that of an elf. But when no such remark ever came, he became slightly worried and turned halfway around in his seat to make sure all was right with his friend. The expression he saw though on the dwarf's face immediately made him blurt out in a slightly defensive way, "What?" For Gimli sat staring at him with a contemplative, musing look on his bearded face, as if he had been suddenly struck by some sudden random thought that made him give pause and think.

"What? What is it?" Legolas again demanded, starting to become somewhat uncomfortable and annoyed by the dwarf's quiet scrutiny of him.

"I'm sorry," Gimli said, finally shaking himself out of his thoughts. "It's just that this is the first time I think I've seen you really talking and acting like yourself in a good many weeks now."

"What do you mean?" the elven prince demanded.

"Just that you have been acting a little bit strangely as of late. Well, more strangely than usual for an elf, I suppose, but still..."

"Well, I cannot say the last few days have been without their stress for me," Legolas quickly retorted, feeling as if he somehow had to defend himself at this, "Do not forget it was only last night that some mysterious group of elves were trying to kill me. I think I am justified in being allowed to act a little bit more strangely than usual after surviving such an encounter."

"No, that's not it," Gimli said, shaking his head, "There's something else about you... Something I really can't explain, but what I noticed the first moment I met up with you back in Minas Tirith for the festival – even before this whole mess of psychotic Elves trying to kidnap you, and these ones trying to convince you you're the reincarnation of some elf that supposedly helped defeat Melkor. I can't explain it. It's like something about you's changed, and you know it, but you're still trying to pretend like nothing's wrong..."

"Nothing is wrong with me, Gimli," Legolas retorted, starting to get rather defensive. "Why won't you believe me when I tell you that?"

"I want to believe you, lad, but I'm just not quite sure what to believe anymore after all that's happened in only the last few days. You said you were fine after you fainted at the festival. And then you said you were fine after almost being killed by some group of fanatical Elves. But deep down I know you're not fine. I can see it in your eyes. I want to help you, lad, but you've been acting so strange lately I just can't help but feel as if I don't know you anymore..."

Legolas did not know how to respond to this, and the two friends continued to ride on in uncomfortable silence. The elf's mind spun with troubling and unwanted thoughts. Up until now he had tried to suppress his growing feelings of unease and distress from becoming noticeable to anyone else around him. But now Gimli said he had also noticed something out of place with the elven prince, as if he were slowly changing into someone else. How many other people also suspected his troubles and this growing sense of unsurety and self-doubt he had for himself and his very sense of personal identity? Could he really pretend any more that there wasn't something wrong? Or that there wasn't something unexplainable changing somewhere deep inside him that made him suddenly feel as if he had to fight to stay the same elf he had always been?

The appearances of the mysterious elven cult that had tried to kidnap him and Elendwë and his men the night before certainly confirmed something was stirring in Middle-earth. Something that's evil that had managed to spread across the sea unto the very shores of Aman in the West.

But was he really this Fëaglin these elves searched for? The one they said was the only one that could prevent the Dark Lord's return?

Despite even his disturbing dreams as of late and the growing sense of unease he felt in the land, Legolas didn't think so. There were many other elves in Middle-earth that had felt the same unnerving tension growing in the air as he had for the past several months now, and the same dark, foreboding presence of some unknown evil lurking somewhere just on the edge of their subconscious. What made him so special that made these elves think he was the reincarnation of some ancient elven warrior that helped defeat the Dark Lord Melkor? Surely there was some other more worthy candidate there in Middle-earth... Some other elf that was the one these elves from across the sea truly searched for...

But Legolas did not get a chance to ponder his situation or self-made list of personal inadequacies any longer as a sudden shout the front of the line drew the small caravan of riders back to a halt in the center of a small, grassy clearing nestled deep within the surrounding forest under the shadow of one of the large, dark mountains rearing up over the treetops in the near distance.

"We shall stop and camp here for the night," Elendwë called back to the other men behind him, "Dusk is approaching and we must secure a safe camp before nightfall." Shifting uneasily on his horse's back, the tall, dark haired elf then shifted his ancient grey eyes away from those behind him to scan the surrounding area of trees and hills. Beside him, Elendwë's blonde haired companion mirrored his leader's actions and nervously fingered the hilt of his sword hanging by his side.

"What is it? Is something the matter?" Aragorn asked as his guards began to dismount behind him and go about the task of setting up camp for the night. Ever since leaving Minas Tirith earlier that morning and heading off the well-beaten roads for the untamed wilds north-east of the city, Aragorn had noticed Elendwë and LarlossË become more and more uneasy and tense as the day progressed. Several times now he had caught them softly whispering to each other in hushed ancient Quenya at the head of the line, or saw them nervously scan the surrounding area. For with every passing mile they traveled closer to the dark, foreboding mountain range of Ephel Duath in the distance, the two elves seemed to tense and go on guard at the slightest hint of movement or sound in the forest around them as if expecting at any moment a surprise attack on their group.

Elendwë slowly reigned his piercing grey eyes back in from scanning the surrounding landscape to once more focus on the mortal king before him. "We are being followed," he whispered softly under his breath, the fair, lilting notes of his heavily-accented voice nevertheless easily reaching Aragorn's mortal ears, "And by the Brotherhood no less..." At Aragorn's sharp intake of alarm at this, the elf calmly added, "Do not worry though. They seem to be keeping their distance for now. I doubt they would risk an open attack on us with so many guards in our company. If anything, they will try to sneak in under the cover of night and kidnap Fëaglin from us again..."

"I will have my men stand watch tonight," Aragorn almost immediately offered, "I do not want any attacks on our camp. Especially if they are directly after Legolas. Though he is a skilled warrior by anyone's standards, I have already seen what underhanded methods of attack these elves used to try and capture him with the last time. I do not want to see him hurt again or worse..." he then softly whispered under his breath as he gave a quick but noticeable glance back over his shoulder in the direction of said elven prince who stood off on the other side of the clearing helping one of Aragorn's guards start a small fire in the middle of what would soon be their camp for the night.

"Neither do we," Elendwë agreed solemnly, "It is our mission to see to it that the prophesy is fulfilled as it should be. If Fëaglin is somehow injured or captured before we reach Mordor, than all hope of victory will be lost... We cannot let the Brotherhood get him." With that thus said, the dark-haired elf then turned and softly nudged his horse over in the direction of his fellow elves standing on the other side of the clearing inspecting some of the surrounding trees and softly whispering to each other in ancient Quenya. Larlossë quickly spurred his mount after his departing leader, leaving the mortal king alone in the middle of the small clearing.

Left with only himself and his troubled thoughts, the man gave a soft sigh and once again glanced over his shoulder towards his elven companion and friend. Legolas had by now finished helping build the fire and moved on to tend to his horse near the edge of the clearing. As he watched the prince go about removing his packs from the great white stallion's back, he couldn't help but notice several of the mysterious elves accompanying their small group also staring in Legolas' direction, their ancient eyes carefully following the prince's every movement as if making sure he didn't stray out of sight and into danger. Danger like the Brotherhood who was said to be somewhere very close nearby. Watching. Waiting for the next opportunity to strike.

_Ai, my friend... I hope you know what you got yourself and the rest of us into... _Aragorn silently whispered to his friend. And with that, the man then turned to prepare himself for the night ahead.

xxxxxx

The sun had long since set, leaving the sky a boundless black expanse of star-studded darkness. Ithil's silvery white face hung high in the heavens overhead and illuminated the darkened land below in a pale ghostly glow. Fire burned brightly in the center of camp, casting long, dark shadows across the ground. Occasionally a log or branch would snap in the belly of the dancing flames and send small popping sprays of fiery hot embers shooting up into the air where they lazily drifted and swirled in the gentle nighttime breeze before then swiftly winking out of existence.

A certain quiet seemed to hang in the air. The one that signaled the start of night and the natural time of day for all of Eru's creation to seek rest in the darkness. The small camp, now settled and secured, began to prepare for the night ahead. Many of those not charged with first watch for the night had already begun to drift away towards their individual bedrolls, ready to seek rest now that they had been properly fed and relieved of any immediate duty. Those that remained however did not show any signs of retiring for the night.

Huddling around the outskirts of the burning campfire sat several dark figures, their features brightly lit by the flickering orange glow of the crackling fire. None seemed to possess any desire for conversation and sat there in silence as they quietly stared down into the fire as if hypnotized by the dancing orange flames. As the extra guards not charged with watch for the night began to slowly drift away one by one into the blissful realm of sleep, an almost oppressive stillness seemed to settle in over the camp, the only sounds to break the silence being the soft chirping of crickets and summer insects and the crackling pop of fire.

As the moon continued its gentle arch over the sleeping land below, one of the figures moved forward to add some more wood to the fire. As several more branches were added to the already roaring fire, the figure once more took his seat on the edge of its circle of warmth and watched as a small plume of fiery embers shot up into the air as the logs settled into place alongside the already burning pieces. Illuminated by the small surge of light generated by the added kindling, the pale tired features of Legolas Greenleaf came into view.

Drawn and weary, the elven prince stared distantly down into the dancing flames, watching as they hungrily consumed his fresh offering of wood. Sighing almost inaudibly under his breath Legolas tiredly drug a hand through his thick golden mane and hung his head down his chest.

"Elf, you're exhausted. Go to bed already. You look like you're about to pass out."

Legolas tiredly raised his head up off his chest and looked at his companion who sat there close beside him to his right smoking on long pipe filled with pungent smelling pipeweed. "I am fine, Gimli," he retorted sharply, looking away from his friend back down into the dancing orange flames of the fire, "I just do not feel like retiring for the evening just yet."

"You might want to consider doing what Gimli suggested though, Legolas," the elf's other fireside companion, Aragorn, said from the other side of the fire, "We need you to be sharp and alert, and you look like you could greatly benefit from a full night's rest."

As much as Legolas wanted to try and pretend he was fine and not in such desperate need of sleep as he knew his friend's knew he was, the man's mere mention of sleep had an almost seductive sounding allure to it and seemed to instantly remind him once again just how tired he really was.

His eyes felt gritty and dry, his eyelids heavy, and his whole body sluggish and weak as if it weighed a thousand pounds. He felt like he hadn't slept in ages. And in truth, that wasn't very far from the truth. He hadn't had a proper night's rest in over two months. Ever since the onset of his reoccurring nightmares, Legolas felt like he was in an almost perpetual state of exhaustion and fatigue. His latest encounter with frightening, wraith like apparitions at the Gondorian festival and then his attempted kidnaping later that same night in the palace gardens the day before were not helping matters much at all either. With all the stress and fatigue he was battling, it seemed almost a miracle he had not yet succumbed to exhaustion.

But as tired as Legolas was, he couldn't seem to convince himself to seek rest. Sleep was no longer the peaceful escape it once was for him. No longer could he trust himself to walk in elven dreamscapes without his dreams suddenly becoming warped, frightening images filled with fire and destruction that were not of his own making.

"I would not feel right not taking my turn standing watch this first night," he weakly protested, looking for any excuse not to have to subject himself to seeking rest just yet even though he knew his body so desperately yearned for it, "It is because of me we are all out here anyway..."

"Do not be foolish, Legolas," Aragorn admonished, "There is no need for you to stand watch. Especially when you are in such obvious need of rest. I already have several of my guards standing watch. No one will attack us tonight. You will be safe."

At this, the last member of their little circle sitting there around the campfire finally spoke up, his fair, heavily accented voice carrying like music in the gentle silence of the night. "Your friend is right," Elendwë said, his ancient grey eyes shining like two endless pools of liquid silver in the flickering campfire light as he stared back into Legolas' eyes, as if he were looking down deep inside him to his core, "You should go seek rest. It is obvious you are weary and in need of sleep. Plus I would not advise you standing watch tonight or any other. It is you our enemies are after and they would readily take advantage of you standing watch by yourself. Do not worry. My men are also standing watch. We will not let Thalion or the Brotherhood attack you while you sleep. Go, rest. You will be safe."

Trying to fight the intense wave of weariness that seemed to instantly wash over his mind and body at the insistent urging of his friends, Legolas hesitated. Part of him still wanted to stubbornly remind them yet again that he was fine and in need of no one's protection while he slept. But with one quick glance over his shoulder in the direction of his empty bedroll laying just outside the small circle of light radiating out into the darkness from burning campfire, almost any other protest or excuse Legolas still might have tried to make seemed to instantly vanish from mind.

He was so tired and his bedroll looked so inviting. He knew somewhere far back in the darkest regions of his mind he still feared experiencing one of his reoccurring nightmares again, but his body's demands for rest were starting to become too much for him to ignore any longer without him knowingly jeopardizing his alertness and wit to fight in battle should an attack suddenly come. He would have to face his unspoken fears. Ones that were now somewhat heightened now that he finally knew the cause and source of the horrifying, blood-stained images of death and destruction he was forced to see night after night in his dreams.

If he could just get a few hours of sleep, he knew he would be able to face anything that came at him next with a clear head and better sense of control. Up until now, he had felt like some kind of helpless rag doll caught up and tossed around in some wild, swirling tempest of mystery and danger. If he could only get some sleep he knew he would be able to deal with the threat of this mysterious elven cult trying to kill him and his apparent responsibility as the reincarnated spirit of an ancient warrior to stop the Dark Lord Melkor's return.

Glancing around, Legolas noted several White Guards standing watch at different points around the small clearing. It should be safe for him to sleep, he told himself. Aragorn's guards and Elendwë's men were there. Surely he should be able to find a few hours rest without the incessant worrying of some faceless band of darkly cloaked elves trying to kidnap him again...

"I still do not feel right not helping with the protection of the camp, but I will relent to your suggestions nonetheless since it seems you will not let me do otherwise," he said, slowly pulling himself up onto his feet from his place near the fire. "I bid you all a good night," he then said with a small bow of the head.

"As to you," Elendwë replied as he too gracefully stood, "I must see now to some matters with my men. May you sleep well tonight, Fëaglin..." he said, nodding to Legolas before then quickly turning from the three friends and blended away into the night before any of them actually saw him go.

Legolas stood for a moment staring after the black haired elf. Somehow he couldn't help but wonder if Elendwë's presence with them at the fire for most of the evening was because of himself being there. Even after most of the White Guards had drifted away to sleep or to stand watch and the rest of Elendwë's men had seemingly disappeared into the night to supposedly keep watch over the camp, the mysterious elf had stayed with Aragorn, himself, and Gimli by the fire. Had Elendwë stayed there with them merely to keep a protective eye over him? It seemed like it. For it felt somewhat strange to Legolas that it was only after he finally agreed to retire for the night that the dark haired elf decided to separate himself from their little group and return to the company of his mysterious kin.

"Are you alright, Legolas?" the elven prince suddenly heard Aragorn ask, effectively breaking him out of his thoughts.

"Yes, I'm fine," he replied with a sigh, "It's just that he called me Fëaglin and not by my real name..."

"Well, those elves think you're really this Fëa-whoever it is their looking for..." Gimli said with a grunt, exhaling a large cloud of smoke out from around his pipe and staring in the direction Elendwë had just disappeared. Slowly turning his gaze back up at Legolas and studying the elf's face for a moment, the dwarf then tentatively asked, "You don't think you're really who they say you are, do you?"

Legolas heaved a weary sigh. "We've already been through this Gimli. I do not know if I am the one they truly search for or not, but I do know for a fact deep down inside me that I must somehow help them. I can feel Melkor's darkness growing stronger more and more everyday and know that he will soon break free from the Void just like they say he will. It is just that I do not know what they expect of me when we finally reach Mordor or if I will even be able to do anything at all... I just do not know what to do anymore..." he sighed, the weariness and confusion of his mission weighing heavily on his mind, body, and heart.

"It's alright, Legolas, you do not have to justify your actions or decision to go on this mission with us," Aragorn said, also pulling himself up to stand, "Just know that we are here to help you no matter what..." Walking around the fire to stand beside his confused and exhausted friend, the man gently laid a hand on the elf's shoulder. "Why don't you go to bed, Legolas," he softly suggested, nodding over in the direction of his friend's bedroll, "Like Elendwë said, you will be well protected tonight. No one will attack us."

Legolas sighed wearily, trying to force a wan smile on his face. But somehow even that seemed too much for the tired elf to muster. "Thank you, Aragorn," he softly whispered, "I believe you are right... A good night's rest would do me well... I have had so little of it lately, and after all that's happened, I feel as if I could sleep until noon tomorrow..."

Aragorn said nothing and only nodded his head in reply. Looking closely at the elf's drawn and weary face, the man suddenly had to wonder if he would ever have the lively, carefree elf he once had as his friend back again. This Legolas standing before him was different from the elf he once knew. This one was filled with tension and dread. Fear that did not belong there and a great sense of responsibility he felt was not Legolas' to bear. Somehow, no matter what Elendwë and his companions said, Aragorn could not bring himself to actual believe the elf he had fought beside and shed blood, sweat, and tears with over the many long years of their friendship together was the one these elves from across the sea believed was the reincarnated spirit of this legendary prophesied One who was said to have defeated the Dark Lord, Melkor, in a great, ancient battle over six thousand years ago, and was now said to be the only one able to stop the end of the world...

He knew and loved Legolas as only a close friend and brother could. And though Legolas was a brave and courageous warrior he would entrust his life to without even a second thought, the story of him being the reincarnated spirit of some ancient elven warrior powerful enough to defeat one of the Valar single-handedly was just too much for Aragorn to swallow. There was no way Legolas could be who they said he was... The mere implications of such a thing actually being true were just too much for the man's mind to comprehend. Who and what it meant his friend really was if they were right... It was just too much...

Aragorn surreptitiously studied the prince out of the corner of his eye. He could visibly see the effects of the elf's situation beginning to weigh down on his friend's face and features. Dark circles ringed Legolas' normally bright and vibrant eyes which now seemed to shine as dull and lifeless as unpolished jewels. His shoulders seemed to sag as if he carried some invisible, heavy burden on them. The elf looked tired and worn. And for the first time in Aragorn's memory of his long friendship with the elven prince, Legolas looked weary and old, his once bright and ageless face now heavily shadowed with the countless years of his immortal existence.

Aragorn had to wonder if the elf he once knew would ever return.

"I must speak to the captain of my guards before I retire for the night," he said, still sadly surveying the devastation exhaustion and stress had wrought on his friend's face, "May you sleep well tonight, my friend. I will see you in the morning."

Legolas nodded his head before then looking over at his dwarven companion. "Will you also be retiring soon, Gimli?" he asked.

"Perhaps in awhile. I want to finish my pipe first. AulË only knows when the next time I'll be able to get a good smoke of pipeweed after we cross into that accursed land of Mordor tomorrow."

Legolas once again did not answer and only silently nodded his head in acceptance. "I will see you both in the morn' then," he said, turning in the direction of his bedroll laying somewhere beyond the small halo of light radiating out from the fire into the darkness. "Goodnight." And then he was gone, melting away from sight like a ghost into the night.

Aragorn and Gimli both stared after the retreating elf for a long moment of silence, the same unspoken uneasiness stirring in the pit of their hearts at the prince's abrupt departure. Though neither said anything to the other, they both knew what the other was thinking. There was something troubling happening to their elven friend... Something that was slowly becoming more and more noticeable to them with every passing day in the warrior prince's waning personality and demeanor. They could only hope a good night's rest might somehow help restore their friend back to his former self...

Legolas, however, was unaware of his friend's growing concerns for him, and tiredly trudged towards his waiting bed roll. He was so fixed on reaching the comfort of his sleeping mat that he barely even registered the glances cast his way by several of the guards standing watch around camp as he slowly walked past.

Finally reaching his and Gimli's bedrolls, whose mat lay close besides his own, the elf quickly stripped himself of his long knives and laid them close beside his sleeping mat within easy reach should he suddenly need them at some point during the night. Then, with no more grace than if he had just collapsed where he stood, the elven prince dropped down onto his sleeping mat and stretched himself out across the ground, drew a blanket over himself and made himself comfortable.

Within mere seconds Legolas felt his eyes already beginning to grow distant and unfocused. _I must have been more exhausted than what I was willing to admit even to myself..._he thought distantly as he felt himself slowly slip away into elven sleep. _Perhaps now I will finally be able to find rest... _And with that, Legolas dropped away from the waking world into the peaceful land of elven dreams, unaware of the lurking danger hiding somewhere just beyond the edge of camp in the dark shadows of the night...

"He is finally asleep. Go prepare the men..."

"Do we really plan to attack him with so many others there with him? They will surely try to protect him..."

"Kill them. No one else except the One is to make it out of that camp alive. Our Master's power is growing stronger every day. The Second Coming is near. We must hurry and seize the One before he allowed to fulfill his part of the prophesy."

"But those with Fëaglin outnumber us more than three to one... Even we cannot hope to defeat that many Fírimar by ourselves..."

There was a small contemplative pause.

"No one but Fëaglin must escape that clearing alive... Summon the Deathscrys..."

To Be Continued...

Please leave a review! I appreciate and accept any and all form of constructive criticism or response!

_Fírimar_ – 'Mortals', one of the Elvish names for Men.


	9. Creatures in the Dark

Hi again! I want to give a big thanks to everyone that read and reviewed the last chapter. I thrive on feedback and reviews. I hope this update didn't take too long for most people. We're finally getting to part I've been waiting to write since I first started this whole thing. Hope everyone enjoys.

See you down at the bottom! Hope you brought your spelunking gear! Whoo!

.o.o.o.o

Discalimer: Lord of the Rings and all associated characters are not mine, nor are they being used for profit in the telling of this story. All rights and credit belongs to JRR Tolkien, the literary genius behind this whole thing.

Legolas was deep in dreams. There was no way for him to tell how long it had been since his eyes first slowly drifted half shut and sleep stole over him before his dreamless slumber had slowly shifted into elven dreams.

Colorful and peaceful, the flow of happy memories washed over the elven prince's unconscious, lulling him deeper into the state of rest in which not only his body would finally receive the rest he so desperately needed, but also his mind. Surrendering himself to the soothing flow of images and emotions they inspired, Legolas drifted along the gentle current of his own memories.

Visions of Eryn Lasgalen's endless green forests slowly drifted past his mind's eye, soothing his troubled spirit with images of home. He could almost feel the golden sunlight filtering down through the leaves and warming his skin, so real and vivid his dream was. Off in the distance he thought he could hear the gentle babble of a nearby brook he and his childhood friends used to play at as young elflings.

Surrendering himself to the flow of memories, Legolas let his mind wander down the familiar path of his forest home.

There was the giant old oak tree just as he remembered it at the end of the path right before the bridge that led into the great entrance hall of his father's underground palace. And there was the grassy glade he and his family used to go on picnic outings to whenever constraints of office did not keep his father from spending some well deserved time with his wife and children. If he listened hard enough he could even hear the sound of soft, musical laughter coming from somewhere up the path, welcoming him home.

Legolas looked around himself slowly, absorbing in all the peace and beauty of his fabricated dream world. Here in his memories of Eryn Lasgalen it was familiar and safe, a place he knew he could retreat to whenever he felt lonely or frightened or in need of comfort. This was his home and why he chose it as at his place of refuge whenever he walked in elven dreamscapes.

Following the familiar dirt path that led away from the palace deeper into the surrounding woods, Legolas gazed at the beauty around him. The images of the dream-forest through which he now walked did not belong to memories of the dark, dangerous woods once known as Mirkwood, but to those of what his homeland had been restored to since the end of the War of the Ring and the lifting of darkness from over the northern realm. This Greenwood, which his elven dreams now embodied, was a bright and happy place. A place free of shadows or fear.

Legolas lazily strolled down the sun dappled path, enjoying the simple, carefree joy he was able to derive from such a simple thing. But as he continued down the familiar sylvan trail, his tranquility was suddenly broken by the faint, almost inaudible sound of what sounded like murmured voices somewhere in the distance. Unsure of exactly what it was he was hearing or where it was coming from, Legolas abruptly stopped in the middle of the trail, stretching out his elven sense of hearing to all sides, trying to discern what it was that was making the strange noise. As he stood there straining his ears to listen, the noise began to slowly build in volume and clarity and seem to move closer to him though he still could not see from where it was coming from. And then he suddenly knew what the sound was.

It was the sound of screams.

Like a storm of a thousand disembodied souls wailing in terror or pain, the screams continued to steadily build in volume until they were almost deafening to Legolas' sensitive ears. Covering his ears, the elven prince frantically looked around as if searching for the ones that cried out in such unending torment so that he might find a way of silencing them, or if for some route of escape.

His head spinning from the deafening roar of a thousand unseen, tormented souls, Legolas reached out to steady himself against the trunk of one of the giant trees growing along the side of the path. But as his hand came in contact with the rough bark, the tree withered away under his touch as if touched by the invisible finger of Death, its leaves shriveling away on its branches to black, paper-like husks.

Retching his hand back in horror, the elven prince looked around him to see all the other trees of the surrounding forest suddenly darken and wither away before his very eyes. Like an endless sea of withered black skeletons, the trees of Legolas' beloved Greenwood stretched out all around him for as far as the eyes could see, their trunks warped and singed black as if caught in some terrible wildfire. The sun had since disappeared from sight behind a thick blanket of fetid looking storm clouds, casting the land below into a dark, sickly grey-green light.

An inarticulate exclamation of horror escaped Legolas' lips as he stared at the sudden devastation wrought on his beloved forest and home. "No!" he cried, gazing around him at the dead, wasted remains of his once beautiful trees.

No! This wasn't right! This wasn't suppose to be happening!

Unlike mortals who had no control over their dreams, Elves were blessed with the ability to control the course of their dreams and walk through their memories at will.

And this horrible scene of devastation and death was not of Legolas' doing.

The screams slicing the air suddenly seemed to take on an even higher pitch, forcing Legolas to clamp his hands down tight over his ears for fear of becoming deaf. He looked around frightenedly. What was going on? Why was this happening?

But before he figure out what was going on, the scene suddenly began to shift, the surrounding forest of dead, withered trees beginning to blur and fade around the edges like a watercolor painting left out in the rain. Overwhelmed and frightened, the elven prince desperately shut his eyes, praying that when he next opened them he would find himself awake and free of this terrifying nightmare.

But the screams did not stop and only continued to grow in volume and slice through his ears like an invisible blade of pain. Collapsing to his knees, the elven prince desperately clutched the sides of his head, trying to block out the unending screams that rent the air so horribly.

Then suddenly, just when he thought he could take no more, the voices changed and the screams became like that of the deafening roar of battle: the sound of metal crashing against metal, shouts and cries, and the gurgled, inarticulate screams of dying men all around him.

Legolas' eyes flew open as the stench of fire, blood, and death suddenly filled his nose and looked around in horror at the scene he now beheld.

For miles all around him fought an unnumerable host of armored Men and Elves against an army of foul beasts and monsters that seemed to spill out in unending waves on them from a huge, monstrous black fortress in the distance. Blood red was the sky above, the air ashy and foul. The stench of sulphur and smoke hung heavy in the air, choking Legolas' lungs and almost making him want to retch in revulsion. Bodies lay scattered across the ground in bloody piles, belonging to both Men, Elves, and monsters. There wasn't a place Legolas looked where blood and death did not meet his eyes.

Looking around in horror, the elven prince felt sickened by the sight of devastation and death that surrounded him. He had seen and been in many battle during his life, but none as terrible as this.

Men and Elves were being cut down like blades of grass under the farmer's scythe by the horrible creatures they battled. Though they fought valiantly, the creatures seemed to literally cut through their ranks like knives through butter. For every one monster killed, it seemed as though five other Men or Elves also fell.

Legolas could tell they were losing... Every time one monster was slain, three more would immediately surge forward to take its place. And no matter how hard the host of Men and Elves fought, the fell creatures just kept coming at them in unending droves from the monstrous black fortress in the distance.

Some small part of Legolas wanted to take up a blade and help these Men and Elves defeat these vile monsters, but more than anything else, he just wanted to escape. This horrible nightmare of blood and death was not of his making and he wanted out.

Spinning around, Legolas desperately searched for some means of escape. But as the elven prince scanned the endless sea of bodies fighting all around him, he suddenly felt the foul, ashy air grow icy and cold, as if some dark presence had suddenly sucked it of all its warmth. Looking back over his shoulder, the elven prince gasped as he found himself suddenly staring up at a tall, dark figure standing only several paces away from him. Dressed in monstrous black armor, the being seemed to literally loom over Legolas like a towering black mountain, the top of its wicked looking helm standing at least twenty feet above the ground.

Unaware of his own actions, the startled elf took several unconscious steps backwards away from the figure. But as Legolas scrambled backwards trying to gain more distance between himself and this monstrous black warrior, his foot suddenly caught against the carcass of some slain beast he had not noticed laying there behind him on the ground, and tumbled backwards onto his tailbone.

Crying out as he hit the ground, Legolas could only stare up in terror as the black figure slowly came to stand over him, brandishing a long, wicked looking sword as it did so.

Frozen in fear, Legolas was only dimly aware of the host of Men and Elves surrounding him abandon their fight with the hideous black creatures they fought and back away in fear from the monstrous black warrior, all muttering the same fearful name: _Morgoth_...

Morgoth... The Black Enemy... The second name of the Dark Vala, Melkor...

.o.o.o.o.o

Gimli was the first to hear the small moans of distress come from the sleeping elven prince laying half a dozen paces away from him where he still sat smoking his pipe near the fire. Not sure if he was hearing things, the dwarf paused and tuned all his senses onto catching another confirmation of what he thought he just heard. Another distressed moan rent the air and Gimli was instantly up from his place and at the elf's side within a mere matter of seconds.

Legolas lay on his back, shifting restlessly under his blanket as if seized by some terrible fever or haunted by some disturbing dream. As Gimli neared and dropped down to one knee beside his friend, he saw that the elf's eyes indeed rested half-open and glazed with elven sleep, confirming his last suspicion.

"Elf? Elf, what's wrong? Wake up," he whispered, trying to keep his voice low enough so as not to wake the rest of the sleeping camp but loud enough to break his clearly distraught friend out of whatever dream it was that was causing him so much distress.

Legolas only tossed his head back against the rolled up blanket beneath his head and uttered another low, echoing moan.

"Legolas. Legolas, come on, lad, wake up," Gimli coaxed, beginning to gently shake the elven prince's shoulder. But Legolas did not respond and only weakly writhed under his blanket as if he were trying to run away from something in his dream. "Legolas, come on. Wake up!" he whispered a bit more harshly, desperate to wake his friend before others were alerted to his moans. But the elven prince still would not wake or respond to his calls.

"Gimli, what's wrong?" a familiar voice rang out, making Gimli look up over his shoulder and see Aragorn quickly striding towards them through the sleeping camp, worry clearly written on his scruffy face.

"I don't know. I was just sitting there smoking when I heard the elf suddenly start moaning and thrashing around in his sleep. I can't wake him up."

Aragorn swiftly knelt next to Legolas' bedroll across from Gimli. "Legolas? Legolas, my friend, awaken!" he called into the elf's ear, trying his own luck at rousing the unconscious prince. But to no avail. Legolas refused to heed his worried calls just as he did Gimli's.

"Aragorn, what's wrong with him? Why won't he wake up?" the dwarf demanded, beginning to get worried. He had never known Legolas to have nightmares or fail to wake from his slumber when he was directly called to.

"I don't know," Aragorn muttered before once more turning to his sleeping friend and calling to him in growing desperation and distress, "Legolas! Legolas, wake up!" He reached down and sharply rattled the elven prince's shoulders. "Legolas! Awaken!"

But still nothing. Legolas only restlessly tossed his head back against the ground and gave another echoing moan of distress.

"What is wrong? What is all this noise?" a sudden voice demanded. Aragorn and Gimli both looked up to see Elendwë suddenly materialize out of the shadows behind them and quickly make his way over towards them, his long grey cloak skirting just above the ground as he moved, making it seem as though he were more floating on air than actually walking. His long dark hair shined brightly in the silvery moonlight overhead and lit his exotic elven features in an eery, ethereal glow.

"Legolas seems to be having some sort of nightmare and he won't wake up," Aragorn explained as he shifted a bit to the side to make room for the dark-haired elf as he too kneeled down next to Legolas' side.

"We must wake him. My men have sensed the Brotherhood somewhere close nearby," Elendwë said urgently as he leaned down over the sleeping elf and gazed into Legolas' empty, sleep-glazed eyes, "They will try and attack us if he so unresponsive and unable to protect himself. We must wake him."

Not wasting any time, Aragorn and Gimli both made as if to reach down to try and shake Legolas' awake again, spurred on by this new threat of safety to their elven friend, but before they could, the blonde archer suddenly gave a frightened cry in his sleep and violently contorted beneath his blanket as if trying to run from something. His bright blue eyes stared up at the starry sky above wide and fearful but empty of any actual awareness.

"Legolas!" Aragorn cried, quickly drawing his friend into his arms to try and calm him, but the elven prince would have none of it and unconsciously began to struggle against the man, wretching himself back out of Aragorn's grasp.

"What is wrong with him?!" Gimli demanded, his deep baritone voice ringing out loudly through the calm, quiet night. By now, most of the other men in camp had been woken by Legolas' cries and stood watching from a distance, unsure of what to do or what was ailing the king's elven friend.

"Some foul dream must have taken him," Elendwë said, resting one hand across Legolas' forehead as if feeling for a fever that was not there. "Probably the work of some dark magic of the Brotherhood's," he then venomously spat with unconcealed contempt, "They will do anything to try and take Fëaglin from us... Quickly. We must wake him. I do not know what devious thing they have in mind for doing such a thing, but it cannot be good."

But before any of them could do anything more in trying to rouse the sleeping prince, a sudden high-pitched, piercing screech unlike anything Aragorn or Gimli had ever heard before rent the air. Echoing out over the sleeping land, the cry sounded like that of an animal, but more unnatural and frightening than any known creature in Middle-earth; like a cross between a Nazgul's cry and a dragon's screech. The sound seemed to instill the very sense of fear into all that heard it.

"What was that?" Gimli whispered, looking around wildly, unable to tell from which direction the unholy sound had originated from.

But just then, as if in answer to the dwarf's question, there came a frightened, gurgled scream from the far side of camp where one of the White Guards standing watch there just under the boughs of the surrounding trees suddenly collapsed forward onto the ground in a limp, dead mass, blood spraying outwards from his body in a fine red mist as he fell.

At this, those guards not already standing watch around the perimeter of camp were instantly up on their feet and brandishing their swords in the direction of their fallen comrade. A wall of impenetrable shadows stood behind the bloody corpse of the fallen guard, obscuring any sign of the one that had so suddenly and brutally struck him down. For several long moments of tense, unbroken silence, those in the small clearing stood frozen in almost painful suspense, waiting to see what danger would emerge from the darkness.

A low, almost reptilian hiss vibrated out from of the shadows. And then, as if the shadows themselves had suddenly come to life, an oily black form slowly separated itself from the darkness and stepped out into the pale, silvery-blue glow of the moon. Those standing there in the clearing stood almost paralyzed with fear, unable to comprehend the frightening creature that now stood before them.

Long limbed and gangly, the creature stood hunched over on all fours. Its head was long and narrow and tapered down to a beak like snout from which protruded a yawning maw of needle like fangs as it bared its teeth and gave a low, menacing hiss at the startled group of men. Silver moonlight played across the creature's oily black skin, making it look as if it were made of liquid shadows. A long, scorpion-like tipped tail lashed the air behind it, swaying dangerously from side to side over its back. Razor sharp talons the size of hunting knives dug into the grassy ground beneath it, its front two sets still stained red and dripping gore from the disemboweled guard laying dead at its feet.

The creature hissed again, bobbing its head from side to side and its needle like teeth dripping thick globs of drool down onto the ground.

"Deathscrys!" Elendwë cried, leaping to his feet and brandishing his sword from under his long sweeping cloak, "Monsters of the Dark Lord!"

But just as the elf shouted his warnings, the terrifying beast charged the nearest guard, rearing back onto its legs so that it stood almost like a human being before the man, and slashed at him with its razor sharp talons before anyone there could even realize what was happening. The poor guard, unlucky enough to have been caught in the fell creature's path, fell dead to the ground before he was even able to utter a frightened gasp of surprise, his abdomen now nothing more than a shredded, gapping hole.

Around the darkened camp came a series of unearthly screams, all like the first one they had heard. From somewhere beyond the edge of the clearing, the frightened squeal of horses suddenly rent the air from where the guards had tethered their mounts for the night. They could hear the horses frantically pulling against their reins, desperately trying to break free and escape from whatever unknown danger it was they suddenly smelled in the chilly nighttime air. Several managed to break their restraints and bolt away into the night, but the frightened cries of those horses unable to break free did not last for long and quickly fell away to the piercing, predatorial screams of the monsters attacking their camp. As the gurgled cries of dying horses abruptly fell away, it suddenly seemed as though the entire clearing was being swarmed in on from all sides by creatures of living shadows.

White Guards immediately turned to face the foul creatures invading their camp, but for all the seasoned warriors in Aragorn's company it was like children trying to fight off a horde of experienced Orcs. Right and left men were cut down by the hideous monsters, their death screams ringing out through the air over the shrill, piercing screams of the terrible black creatures. A few were managing to hold their ground against the deadly creatures, but it was apparent they were struggling just to do that.

All around Aragorn and Gimli White Guards strove and fought, locked in deadly battle with the foul monsters. Legolas gave another whimpering cry and tossed his head back against the ground, his eyes distant and wide as he restlessly thrashed under his blanket.

"Aragorn, what do we do?" Gimli cried out over the sound of fighting men and monsters, still kneeling close beside his unconscious friend's head.

"Keep trying to wake him!" Elendwë called back, protectively standing over the thrashing prince near his feet, "He is the one they are after! These creatures have been summoned by the Brotherhood. My men and I will try and protect you, but you must wake him quickly!"

As if hearing their leader's proclamation, four other cloaked elves quickly appeared out of the dark shadows of the surrounding trees and formed a protective circle around the unconscious prince, their swords drawn and ready to face any creature that should try and come near.

Immediately jumping onto their assigned task, Aragorn and Gimli both began frantically shaking their unconscious friend's shoulders and shouting into his ear.

"Legolas! Legolas, you must wake up! Legolas!"

"Come on, you lazy tree-hugging elf, wake up!"

.o.o.o.o.o

Legolas stared up in utter terror at the evil Vala standing over him. As all young elflings did in the way of both history lessons and bedtime stories, he had heard tales of the Dark Lord Melkor. But no story Legolas ever heard could have ever prepared him for the sight of the monstrous black warrior-god now standing before him.

Taller than what Legolas would have ever thought, the dark Vala towered over the elven prince's prone form, his great black armor shining dully in the low fiery light of the reddish sky overhead. An ominous hush abruptly fell over the war-torn battlefield as those fighting all around noticed the dark lord's presence there and stopped to stare, wondering what the his sudden appearance could mean. Even the dark monsters and beasts the host of Men and Elves fought seemed to pause in their fighting to wait and see what their master did.

For a moment, no one moved or seemed to even breathe. Melkor's huge, chain mailed hand slowly gripped the handle of his wicked looking sword as his great helmed head scanned the sea of Men and Elves around him, as if testing its readiness to shed blood. It's leather grip squeaked softly under the dark lord's ministrations, like the last warning sign of calm before the unleashing of a deadly summer storm.

As if taking this as an opportunity or invitation to strike, one man dressed in ancient looking Edainian armor suddenly broke rank from the line of frozen men staring up at the imposing black figure, and rushed the dark lord with a loud, inarticulate battle cry. Sword raised up over his shoulder, ready to inflict retribution and justice on the evil-doing god, the man rushed straight towards Melkor.

Melkor, as if already anticipating such a pitiful attack on his person, effortlessly swung his great black sword back like a club and batted the man aside with it as if he were nothing but a rag doll. The sickening crunch of bone sounded as the man's body flew through the air before finally landing some thirty feet away from where he had originally stood.

This seemed to finally break the rest of those watching out of their shocked trance and back to the present. Almost as one singular organism, the great host of Men and Elves surged forward towards the giant dark lord, revenge for their fallen comrade shining brightly in their eyes. Melkor, however, did not seem intimidated in the least by their superior numbers and began to effortlessly hew them down with his mighty fell sword as they continued to come at him in great waves. The sound of screams and dying men once more filled the air along with the stench of freshly spilt blood.

The battle once more resumed and seemed to take on an almost frenzied pitch. Legolas struggled to his feet, feeling overwhelmed and dazed by all that was going on around him. Why was this happening? Looking around him at the endless scene of death and blood, Legolas felt a terror unlike anything else he had ever felt rise up inside him.

He should not be here. This was not right. He wanted to escape. But everywhere Legolas looked, searching for some escape from the horrible nightmare, he was met with nothing more than the sight of bloody corpses and dying men. Choking back a sob of terror, the elven prince desperately wished it would all end and that he would just wake up to find everything safe and fine.

But it did not, and the battle continued to rage on around him...

.o.o.o.o.o

"Legolas, please! Wake up!" Aragorn desperately cried into the elven prince's ear, his voice cracking in panic. All around them, fell black creatures known as Deathscrys swarmed their camp, attacking any White Guard they met. Right and left, men were being cut down by the foul creatures, seemingly helpless to defend themselves against their razor sharp talons and claws. Only half a dozen or more guards now remained that hadn't yet been killed by the invading Deathscrys. The bodies of their dead comrades lay strewn across the bloody ground. But though those left fought valiantly to keep the foul creatures from reaching their king and his elven friend, it was obvious they were slowly losing and just barely managing to stay alive.

Legolas tossed his head back against his bedroll and uttered another long, low moan of distress, unaware of the desperate battle going on around him. Three of the other elves standing guard around him had already broken rank to stop attacking Deathscrys from reaching the elven prince. Unlike Aragorn's White Guards, Elendw's band of elves seemed to know how to fight against the foul monsters and managed to keep the ones that had broken past the guards at bay several yards away from where Aragorn and Gimli still knelt trying to wake their unconscious friend.

"Legolas! Wake up!" Aragorn once again futility called into his friend's ear who now lay thrashing under his blanket, staring up at the sky with wide, vacant blue eyes. Gimli had since given up trying to shout his friend awake and now knelt close beside Legolas trying to keep the elven prince still in his restless throes. "Legolas! Legolas, awaken! There is danger!" the man desperately shouted, but still nothing seemed to reach the elven prince through the grips of whatever foul dream had taken him.

The horrible screech of Deathscrys filled the air all around them, almost drowning out the sound of battle and dying men. Aragorn glanced up and shared a frightened, helpless look with Gimli as Legolas once more tossed his head back against the ground and issued another piercing cry of terror in his sleep. The elf's body violently contorted to the side and Gimli had to struggle to keep the prince still.

"Aragorn, what do we do?" the dwarf cried, his own helplessness shining clearly in his dark little eyes, "We can't wake him."

"You must keep trying!" Elendwë shouted back at them over the sound of battle from where he still stood protectively close to the elven prince's side, guarding over their huddled group as Aragorn and Gimli continued to try and wake their friend. His ancient grey eyes darted wildly from side to side, constantly scanning the on-going battle around them. His sword remained raised and held in a defensive posture in front of his chest, ready to lash out and strike should some Deathscry manage to break past his men and make an attack on the unconscious prince. "If Fëaglin is captured or killed, then all hope for us is lost!" he cried, "You must wake him!"

At that moment, there came a sudden shout in Elvish over the din of battle. Those huddle close to the elven prince's side all looked up and stared in the direction the shout had been issued. Another shout sounded from out of the surrounding darkness of the clearing and this time there was no mistaking in what language it had been given; ancient Quenyan... Half a second later, five cloaked figures suddenly materialized out of the heavy black shadows of the night and into the clearing, rushing straight for the small group huddled around the unconscious elven prince on the other side of the field.

Elendw's face immediately contorted into an image of pure hatred and contempt as he watched the five cloaked figures race towards him and the huddled group. "The Brotherhood..." the dark haired elf spat, his lips curling up into a fierce sneer as if the words themselves had left a foul taste in his mouth. His sword quickly came up to bare in front of his chest, the edge of its deadly blade shining brightly in the pale blue cast of the moon. "Norenthir enáthare! Mellengel ailén! _Prepare for battle! It is the Brotherhood!_," Elendwë cried loudly over the cries of Deathscrys and battle, "Fëaglin elin dûr! Leneth el! _They have come for Fëaglin! Protect him!_"

At this, those other elves battling Deathscrys around the unconscious prince quickly moved to dispatch of the foul creatures they fought against, and turned to face the five cloaked figures rushing towards them. In a terrible clash of blades, the two forces met head on. Swords slashed through the air in silvery white streaks, ringing out loudly as they collided with that of their enemy's.

Aragorn and Gimli looked on in silent, hypnotized wonder at the unworldly battle taking place before their very eyes. They could not help but be reminded of the first battle they had witnessed in the Hall of King's moonlit gardens the night of Legolas' first attempted kidnaping.

Legolas, meanwhile, tossed his head restlessly back against the ground, whimpering in uncalmable distress. His cries had since begun to take on a slightly more distressed and desperate quality to them, as if he was subconsciously begging to be woken and released from whatever horrible, unending nightmare it was that had claimed him.

Elendwë, who had not yet gone to do battle with the attacking band of elves and still stood protectively close to Legolas' side watching the ongoing battle warily, looked back over his shoulder at the thrashing prince and swiftly knelt down next to the distressed elf beside Aragorn. "This should not be happening..." he observed quietly under his breath, resting one hand across the unconscious archer's clammy forehead, "He has most definitely been seized by some foul work of magic."

"Is there nothing we can do?" Aragorn implored, hoping against hope that this mysterious elf from across the sea would somehow know a way of breaking his friend out of this unnatural sleep.

"I am sorry. I know no way of freeing him from this enchantment," Elendwë said, staring down into Legolas' wide, fear-glazed eyes with an odd, unreadable look in his own, "This is something he must do on his own..."

.o.o.o.o.o

Legolas watched in silent, helpless horror as the Dark Lord continued to effortlessly slaughter the host of Men and Elves around him. Right and left, men were sent hurtling through the air by Melkor's monstrous sword or cut down where they stood trying to defend their comrades and themselves. None seemed capable of stopping him. As Melkor continued to hew down his enemies with huge, sweeping arches of his blade, it suddenly seemed to Legolas that Melkor was doing less fighting than actual playing. He swore he could almost see the sadistic joy on the Dark Vala's black helmed face as he sent yet another poor, innocent man screaming to his death.

_This is not battle... _Legolas felt his sickened heart suddenly remark, _This is a massacre..._

By now almost all those warriors not already engaged in battle against the Dark Lord had begun to retreat and fall back away from the fell god's path. All around Legolas cries of retreat sounded through the hot, stagnant air, echoing out far and wide across the huge, bloodstained battlefield.

A thunderous roar of victorious laughter came from Melkor as he watched those around him quickly scatter and scurry away in fear. Hefting his now blood soaked sword high up into the air, the Dark Lord made a show of taunting the retreating forces, as if daring them to come back and face him again.

But none would dare do so.

Laughing evilly, the fallen god motioned to his army of Orcs and demons around him, signaling for one last march on the already broken and defeated forces of Men and Elves.

Like a black plague of death, Melkor's terrible army of creatures rallied behind him, preparing to once and for all finish off the decimated host of Men and Elves that fought on the side of the Valar.

But as Legolas watched, sickened by the horror of it all and what he was sure to come, he suddenly saw out of the corner of his eye a tall glowing figure step forward from the broken, huddled ranks of Men and Elves. Turning towards the figure, Legolas was immediately dazzled by the blindingly beautiful light that seemed to literally radiate off the heavenly being's form.

Struggling to make out any features of the radiant being's glowing face, Legolas was soon forced to shield his eyes against the being's blinding blue-white light, unable to stand the beauty and brilliance of such pure energy and power.

Frozen in awe, Legolas watched the ethereal being slowly walk straight towards the Dark Lord, striding straight and proud as if not at all frightened by Melkor's towering black form or his hoard of hissing monsters behind him. Like a glowing beacon of light, the figure crossed the bloody, war-torn field, his form radiating a bright, glowing light the likes Legolas had never seen before. It was then that Legolas suddenly had to wonder if this was what looking upon the Two Trees of Valinor was like.

As Legolas watched, the glowing warrior slowly glided past him, only a few paces away from where he stood riveted to the spot. As he passed, Legolas felt the edge of the being's glowing white aura slowly slip over him and encompass him in its light. A warm, comforting feeling instantly washed over the elven prince, soothing his frightened spirit and seeming to instantly banish any sense of fear or doubt from his mind. Legolas felt swept up and comforted by the strange yet somehow familiar presence he sensed hiding somewhere within this blinding white cocoon of light, like he had somehow been healed and made spiritually whole.

The sensation swiftly faded though as the glowing warrior steadily moved on, gliding on past Legolas towards his ultimate goal of the fell Dark Lord standing only several dozen yards away. Legolas immediately felt a strange sense of loss in his heart at the sudden loss of light and warmth. Like a tidal wave, all his previous feelings of fear and dread seemed to instantly come crashing back down on him, almost smothering his crying soul.

Legolas stared after the heavenly being longingly, wanting nothing more than to chase after him and once more feel that all-encompassing sense of peace and wholeness he had felt while in the presence of that silvery white light. But it suddenly felt as though he was frozen in place, not allowed to move or follow the glowing warrior except with the yearning blue gaze of his eyes.

With every purposeful step the brilliant figure took closer to the dark Vala, the evil creatures huddled at Melkor's sides slowly began to cringe back and slink away from the approaching warrior, unable to stand the blinding white quality of his light.

The Dark Lord slowly stepped towards the approaching figure, gripping the handle of his sword menacingly. Legolas could almost feel the dark Vala's malice grow and begin oozing off of him in palpable waves. For surely no one had ever dared stand up to him like this before – so openly and unafraid. Melkor's form suddenly seemed to grow, as if strengthened by the intensity of his wrath and contempt for this glowing warrior that dared stand against him. The ground beneath his feet began to quake and rumble out across the field in waves.

The dark monsters at Melkor's side began to hiss and screech, agitatedly shifting from side to side. Men and Elves fell to their hands and knees in droves, cowering their heads to the ground in fear of the death they were certain was about to come.

But the radiant being still did not seem at all intimidated by the Dark Lord's ostentatious show of power. With almost casual smoothness, the glowing warrior reached down to his side and pulled a long, silvery white sword from its sheath.

A low, murderous rumble echoed out from behind the Dark Lord's evil-looking black helm. Holding his blood soaked blade aloft, Melkor began his advance on the glowing warrior.

But still the being refused to back down or show any sign of fear. He stood straight and tall, his sword held in front of him in a pose of anticipation and readiness.

As Legolas watched the white warrior and Melkor meet in a terrible clash of metal and thunder, the sky above suddenly seemed to dim and turn into unnatural night. Darkness unlike anything Legolas had ever seen before fell as though the entire world had suddenly been cast under a thick black blanket.

Cries of terror immediately rent the air from those Men and Elves on the other side of the field. Legolas looked around in bewilderment at the darkened world around him, but before he could panic or succumb to fear he suddenly saw shining out through the darkness a bright, luminescent source of light. Like a brilliant star fallen from heaven, the tall, radiant form of the glowing warrior seemed to pierce through the surrounding darkness as brightly as a bonfire in the depths of Moria. Warm, silvery light radiated out through the darkness, illuminating an area of several hundred yards in all directions around the ethereal being.

Turning his eyes towards the center of the glowing ball of light radiating off the shining being, Legolas was immediately seized by wonder and awe at the sight he beheld within.

The glowing warrior and Melkor were fighting against each other viciously, the crash of their swords like loud, booming claps of thunder. The air around the two seemed to literally tense and crackle with the charged energy of the two combatants. Sparks flew as metal met metal and thunder sounded, the power of the Dark Lord set against the almost blindingly beautiful light of his glowing opponent.

As Legolas continued to watch in awe struck wonder the titanic clash of powers, he suddenly felt from the center of his body a small tug, as if some tiny thread had been tied to the very core of his being and was gently being pulled. Looking down at his stomach, he indeed saw nothing there. But as he stood there staring at his stomach, he suddenly felt the sensation become stronger and more pronounced. It was like he could actually feel a small portion of his energy slowly being drawn from him. Gasping at the sensation, the elven prince immediately covered his stomach with his hands as if to try and stop the steady flow of energy leaving his body. But as he did so, he suddenly felt the odd pulling sensation on his spirit suddenly redouble and pull him into a strange sense of dizziness and disconnection with the world around him.

Reeling from the sudden assault, Legolas was only vaguely aware of the titanic battle still raging in front of him. He felt as if he was steadily being drained of energy. Sinking to his knees, the elven prince desperately clutched his chest, feeling his strength slowly being leeched away from him in a steady stream.

Weakly looking back up the dueling god and warrior, Legolas suddenly noticed how much brighter the ethereal being seemed to be glowing, as if his power was somehow being fueled by some unknown force as he continued to strive against the Dark Lord's might. It was now almost impossible to look directly at the being's face. It was as though he was made of pure, living energy. Legolas was sure he had never seen anything so beautiful or awesome before in his life.

The pulling sensation continued, but Legolas no longer really noticed. He suddenly felt hypnotized by the great battle going on before him. Like he was somehow being vicariously drawn into it.

And then, with no other warning to the elven prince, he suddenly felt a strange connection form between himself and the silvery-white light of the glowing warrior, as if he could actually feel his energy feeding into the glowing warrior's brilliant white aura of light. A strange but familiar presence like the one he first felt when the luminescent being slowly strode past him on his way to the Dark Lord touched the edge of his senses, filling his mind with a sudden flood of warmth and light.

His first reaction was to recoil away in fear, but as the strange sensation continued to wash over him like the warm, comforting touch of sunlight, he suddenly felt himself drawn closer to the luminescent being's radiant aura of light, as if his spirit was slowly being sucked in and merged with the blinding bright light. But he held no fear of it. Somehow this felt right to him. As if somewhere deep inside he knew this was suppose to happen.

He felt safe and warm and somehow inexplicably... whole...

.o.o.o.o.o

Aragorn had since drawn Anduril from its sheath and now knelt close beside his thrashing friend, watching the ongoing battle around them. Legolas still refused to heed any of their desperate calls and seemed to be becoming even more distressed and agitated with each passing moment. It was clear that if anyone tried to attack him while he still lay there gripped by unnatural dreams he would be helpless to defend himself. Across from Aragorn near Legolas' head, Gimli had also taken up his axe, his dark little eyes constantly scanning the ongoing battle around them, as if waiting to see if anyone would dare try and come near and attack his friend.

Darkly cloaked figures danced and twirled around each other in deadly swordplay only several dozen feet away from where the elven prince lay. The only way to tell the two sides apart was by the Brotherhood's drawn hoods. But even then it was difficult to tell who was who in the pale blue moonlight as the two forces continued their frantic fight.

The screech of Deathscrys filled the air, the last few remaining guards valiantly struggling to keep the foul monsters at bay. The bodies of several Deathscrys lay scattered across the field, slain by both Aragorn's men and the elves of Elendw's party, but far more humans lay dead in bloody heaps on the ground.

Elendwë, still standing close to Legolas' side with his sword held ready by his side, surveyed the ongoing battle between his men and those cloaked figures of the attacking Brotherhood with raging fire in his eyes. "Noth endír mor Arda... _Foul spawn of Arda..._" he cursed softly under his breath though Aragorn and Gimli had no idea what he said. Looking back over his shoulder at the man and dwarf he called to them over the din of battle, "If one of the Brotherhood somehow manages to get past my men and I, you must protect Fëaglin! They will try and kill him. He is our only hope for victory. If he is somehow captured or killed–"

"We're not going to let that happen," Aragorn quickly interrupted the elf and said with the deepest of convictions in his voice, "Gimli and I will defend Legolas to our deaths if we have to."

Elendwë nodded his head slowly at Aragorn's words and held the man's gaze steadily with his own for a long moment of silence. "That is good to hear you say..." he finally whispered in a soft voice, a strange look shining deep inside his ancient grey eyes.

Aragorn was about to open his mouth and say something else, but never got a chance to as he suddenly noticed that Legolas had stopped thrashing and now lay almost perfectly still beside him. Looking down, Aragorn was startled to find the elf's eyes closed and his breathing coming in shallow, desperate gasps. "Legolas? Legolas, answer me!" he cried, immediately pressing two fingers to the underside of the elf's jaw, fearing something wrong with his friend. The elf's heartbeat fluttered up under his fingertips shallow and fast.

"Aragorn, what's wrong with him?" Gimli demanded, panic lacing his normally deep baritone voice. But the man ignored the dwarf's worried question, too focused on his unconscious friend.

"Legolas? Legolas, you must wake up!" he desperately called into the elven prince's ear, already knowing his cries were probably in vain. "Please, wake up!"

Legolas lay rigid on his back, his head lolled back and chest heaving for breath. But then, just as Gimli and Aragorn were about to once more futilely try shaking him awake, the elven prince suddenly gave a loud, piercing cry, his back arching up off the ground as his eyes shot open and stared up at the sky wide and unseeingly. The elven prince's body violently contracted in on itself as if suddenly seized by some terrible flash of pain before then once more collapsing back down onto his back and violently tossing his head about back and forth across the ground.

But neither Aragorn or Gimli moved to try and restrain their thrashing friend. All ability to move or even think seemed to have all but abandoned them in that instant at the startling sight they now beheld.

For not only was their friend once more seized by whatever unknown affliction it was that kept him from answering their desperate calls, but now his eyes seemed to shine with some strange and unnatural light that seemed to come from the very depths of the elf's soul. Like two points of molten sapphire, Legolas' eyes glowed with a light that reminded Aragorn and Gimli of concentrated starlight. They could no longer see his pupils, only two pools of glowing light.

Twisting his head to the side, Legolas let out another keening wail, his eyes shining out brightly through the dark shadows of the night. But then, Legolas suddenly began to speak. His voice rose up loud and clear, like wind chimes in the breeze over the sound of battle. But the words he spoke were nothing Aragorn or Gimli expected to hear. For the words the elven prince shouted were those of ancient Quenyan...

"Lanlen mir! Nethaür e andúr! Thain daren on dir sorenth!" he cried out loudly, wildly thrashing his head back and forth across the ground as his glowing eyes blankly stared up at the starry sky above, "Garun naursen! Noth mor en..."

Aragorn quickly looked up Elendwë standing over them. "What is he saying?" he asked, unable to understand the strange elvish words coming out of his friend's mouth.

But Elendwë did not answer and only stared down at Legolas with a strange expression on his face neither Aragorn or Gimli could quite place – perhaps surprise? Or was that also a shadow of fear they saw shining deep inside the mysterious elf's eyes?

As they stared in almost speechless wonder the possessed elf toss his head back and shout another string of elven words, they suddenly saw a faint glow of light rise up over Legolas' skin, as if his skin was actually emitting the supernatural light. A beautiful aura of silvery white light quickly encased the elven prince, making him look as though he were some fallen star from heaven or some divine being of Valinor.

"What is that?" Gimli demanded, almost backing away from his friend in fear. Though he knew of Elves and their skin's strange elven trait of softly glowing in the dark – supposedly from the light of their immortal spirit – and had often seen Legolas doing so himself at night, what he saw before him was like nothing he had ever seen before. It was not like Legolas' skin was just reflecting the light of his inner spirit, but as if he was literally possessed by light and radiating it from his body like some kind of mini star.

"That is the glow of Fëaglin's inner power," Elendwë calmly said as he knelt back down beside Legolas' glowing body. Looking up at the two kneeling beside their luminescent friend's head he then asked in an almost sarcastically smug way, "Now do you believe us when we say your friend is the One my men and I search for?"

But Aragorn and Gimli could not find the voice to answer, and only continued to stare down at Legolas' glowing form in unmasked wonder and awe...

.o.o.o.o.o

As Legolas watched, the glowing warrior spun out of the path of the Dak Lord's sword and swiftly dealt a strike of his own before Melkor could recover. Melkor gave a loud, booming roar of anger at this and viciously swept his sword at the shining being. The glowing warrior was batted back several steps, struggling to regain his footing, but quickly recovered and immediately lunged back at the evil Vala.

The battle continued to rage as the two once more met in another great clash of power. Deafening rounds of thunder shook the ground as lightening and energy crackled in the air around the two fighting beings. Legolas felt hypnotized by the battle. He had never seen anything so terrifying or awesome.

The bright aura of light surrounding the glowing warrior had now grown some several hundred feet in diameter around him and the Dark Lord Melkor. The army of demon and orcs and great host of Men and Elves both stood frozen and entranced just on the edge of either side of the great glowing sphere of light, watching the ongoing battle going on inside. Illuminated by the glowing warrior's aura of light, their features shined brightly in the shadowy world of unnatural darkness around them.

It was then that Legolas suddenly noticed a lone figure standing out from the hoard of other demons and monsters on Melkor's side of the battlefield. The being did not look like one would expect to find in the service of the Dark Lord. It was extremely tall and slender like an elf, but dressed in shining black armor like the rest of Melkor's army. Long dark hair flowed down the figure's back to the top of its waist where a great long sword hung down by its side. Though Legolas tried to see, its face remained hidden behind a curtain of impenetrable shadows cast by the glowing warrior's aura of light.

The warrior seemed somehow eerily familiar to the elven prince, as though he should know who it was there he saw. But try as Legolas might, he could not place the strangely familiar being.

Another great crash of thunder suddenly sounded, rattling the very air itself with its power. Tearing his eyes away from the unknown figure, Legolas looked back over at the glowing warrior and Melkor. The two stood locked together in a battle of strength, their swords crossed and pushing against the other as the two combatants steadily stared into each other's eyes, their arms shaking as they pushed back on the other's sword. Sparks of energy crackled off their interlocked blades, flashing like blue lightening in the glowing aura of blinding white light around them.

Melkor's evil black form towered over the glowing warrior as he struggled to overpower the smaller being. But his opponent seemed too powerful despite his smaller form for Melkor to push back. The Dark Lord gave a great howl of rage as he finally wretched his sword back from the glowing warrior's and raised it up over his shoulders as if ready to deliver the final crushing blow to his opponent's head.

But he never got a chance to.

For as Melkor reared back with his sword held aloft back over his head, a great flash of blinding white light suddenly exploded from the around the glowing warrior's form. Like an exploding sun, the being disappeared from sight behind a blinding wall of white. A great, booming roar of agony and rage erupted from the Dark Lord Melkor as he was swiftly swallowed by the exploding light.

Legolas immediately tried to shield his eyes from the wall of blinding white light that rushed to swallow him in its depths. But as he felt the great aura of light hit him, he felt himself suddenly thrown back and sent reeling through the air. With a great gasp, the elven prince was only aware of the overwhelming crash of energy washing over him and enfolding him within its blinding embrace, and then...

Legolas woke with a start.

Looking around him, the elven prince was confused to find both Aragorn and Gimli kneeling close beside him and staring down at him at him with some strange look of disbelief and awe in their eyes. Elendwë knelt close beside Aragorn with a speculative expression on his face. Struggling to push himself up onto his elbows, the elven prince looked around wildly, disoriented and confused.

"What happened? Where am I?" he cried, his whole body shaking in the aftermath of the strange and frightening dream he just experienced.

"Legolas, calm down," Aragorn said as he helped the now normal looking prince sit up though a hint of unmasked wonder still shined deep inside his pale grey eyes, "You were dreaming and thrashing around in your sleep. We couldn't wake you and–"

"You were glowing," Gimli immediately broke in and supplemented in a slightly shaking voice as he continued to stare at the prince in open disbelief and shock.

"What?" Legolas demanded, still disoriented and confused from his abrupt awakening, "What are you talking–" But he never got any farther than that as a sudden piercing screech shattered the nighttime air and the sound of battle suddenly reached Legolas' ears. Looking around Aragorn and Gimli's bodies blocking his view, Legolas was startled to find the small clearing they had made their camp for the night swarming with darkly cloaked figures and tall, gangly black creatures that seemed made of living shadows cutting down knights of the White Guard right and left all around them.

Elendw's men fought desperately, struggling to drive the hooded figures they fought back from where Legolas still sat surrounded by Aragorn, Elendwë, and Gimli. Unfortunately though, it seemed those of the Brotherhood had something just as important to fight for as Elendw's men did and fought back against Legolas' protectors viciously. The sound of clashing metal rang out loudly through the air over the frightening, unnatural screams of Deathscrys all around them.

Gasping in horror at the sight he saw, Legolas quickly pulled himself to his knees and reached for his long knives laying close beside his bedroll. Struggling to his feet, the elven prince surveyed the surrounding battle. He was not about to just sit there and watch as others fought and died protecting their camp around him.

But as the elven prince stood and took several shaking steps away from where Aragorn and Gimli still sat kneeling on the ground, he suddenly heard a high-pitched, piercing scream rent the air. Turning to his right, Legolas saw the oily black form of a rouge Deathscry slowly separate itself from the surrounding shadows of the night and turn to face him. Thick globs of slimy drool slowly dripped from its needle-like fangs as it bared its teeth at him and gave a low, menacing hiss.

"Legolas, watch out!" he heard Aragorn frantically shout somewhere behind him. But the man's words made little sense to his frozen mind. He felt frozen to the spot by the sight of the evil looking creature. Somehow he couldn't help but feel as if he were once again trapped in some terrible, unending nightmare.

Rearing up onto its back two legs so that it stood almost human, the Deathscry gave another ear splitting screech, its wicked looking tail viciously lashing the air behind it. Then with no more warning to the startled elven prince, charged.

Before the creature even transversed half the distance between itself and the frozen blonde archer, Legolas knew he would not be able to defend himself. The creature moved faster than anything he had ever seen before. Already it was almost on top of him. Like a black streak of liquid shadow it leapt at him with its razor sharp talons outstretched and wicked teeth gnashing rapaciously.

Though he knew it was probably futile to even try, Legolas nevertheless brought his knives up to bear in front of his chest in one last instinctive effort of protecting himself. But before the Deathscry could actually strike, it was suddenly sent reeling back several feet, the long shaft of an elven arrow protruding from its chest. Before Legolas could even understand what was happening, several more arrows were embedded in the fell creature's body.

Whipping around, Legolas was gratefully startled to see Gelion quickly making his way over towards them through the chaotic storm of battle filling the small, moonlit clearing. His bow held poised before his face, the dark haired elf quickly fired off three more arrows in consecutive order into the fell black creature as he continued his steady advance on it and Legolas' position. One arrow barely even left his bow before his hand was automatically reaching back over his shoulder to grab yet another deadly projectile from his quiver. Legolas was certain he had never seen anyone so fast with a bow before. He could barely even see the dark haired elf's hand move before yet another arrow went flying from Gelion's bow into the fell creature's body.

The Deathscry gave off a terrifying howl of rage as yet another arrow pierced its skin and forced it back several more feet from its intended prey. Several dozen arrows now protruded from the beast's oily skinned chest and body, black blood streaming from its many wounds, but still it kept trying to advance on the frozen elven prince.

Gelion shot two more arrows off into the fell creature's chest, finally forcing the Deathscry to the ground, but as he reached back to grab yet another arrow, his questing hand was met with nothing but an empty quiver. Cursing in ancient Quenya at the realization, the mysterious elf quickly threw his bow aside and drew his sword from its sheath. "Fëaglin, prepare yourself!" he cried, now rushing for the elven prince who stood still staring several dozen feet away in shock at the wounded Deathscry.

Legolas finally seemed startled out of his trance at the sudden shout, but already the Deathscry was slowly pulling itself back up onto its feet. Hissing menacingly, the creature made one last vicious lunge at the elven prince. For one seemingly endless moment of time, Legolas was only aware of the frightening black monster coming towards him and the certainty of his own impending death as he watched its razor sharp claws reach out towards him to tear him in two. But just as Legolas could almost feel the air around him stir from the movements of the creature's sweeping talons, he suddenly felt a large, powerful mass slam into him and send him crashing down onto his side.

A long, terrible screech filled the air before a heavy, oppressive silence quickly followed in its wake.

Slowly looking up, Legolas was startled to see the tall, dark haired form of his savior, Elendwë, standing over him with the body of the attacking Deathscry laying dead at his feet. The small clearing now stood empty and still, all signs of attacking monsters or darkly cloaked figures seemingly vanished into thin air. No White Guards remained. The bodies of the slain guards lay scattered and strewn across the clearing in small bloody piles. The only ones to have survived were those Elves of Elendw's company, Legolas, Aragorn, and Gimli.

Retching his sword from the creature's dead body, Elendwë slowly looked down at the elven prince laying sprawled out across the ground at his feet. For several long moments of unbroken silence the two just stared at each other, neither daring to speak or move as if they were somehow seizing each other up in a new light.

There came the sudden hurried sound of feet, and Legolas was finally forced to turn his gaze away from Elendw's piercing grey depths. Aragorn and Gimli quickly ran up to him and knelt beside him, helping him to sit up.

"Legolas! Legolas, are you alright? Are you hurt?" the man cried, automatically scanning his friend's body for any injuries.

"You stupid, stupid elf! What were you thinking?" came the dwarf's worried greeting right behind Aragon's, "You could have gotten yourself killed!"

"I am fine, Aragorn," the elven prince dismissed, though in a slightly shaking voice, as he raised a shaking hand to the side of his face. "Thank you," he then softly added as he looked back up at the mysterious dark haired elf that had saved his life.

Elendwë continued to stare down at Legolas with a deep, unreadable look in his eyes. "This will not be our last encounter with Thalion or the Brotherhood before the end," he said in a low, eerie voice as his men slowly came to stand behind him in a small group, "Nor will it be the last with those foul creatures of the Dark Lord. They are rising up. They can feel their master's power growing stronger every day and are harkening to his call. We are still many miles from Mordor, but now you, your friends, my men and I are all that's left to find our way there and stop the Coming of the End. A new line has been drawn in the sand. And time is now of the essence..."

.o.o.o.o.o

To Be Continued...

.o.o.o.o.o

Did you make it down alright? I know it was kind of a long chapter, but you don't mind, right? At least now you know where I disappeared to for the last couple weeks.

Anyway, please leave a review. Pretty pretty please. I worked extra hard on this chapter and feedback always makes me work faster with another update.

Till next time


End file.
